Avonlea Castle
by Scribbles-by-Kate
Summary: Tristan Gold and his wife Milah visit Avonlea Castle in a last attempt to save their marriage, but Gold quickly discovers that his wife is far from interested in salvaging their relationship. A distraught Gold then finds himself helping a beautiful ghost named Belle, and perhaps finding happiness he never expected.
1. Chapter 1

This is based on a very cheesy '80s movie called _High Spirits_ , starring Peter O'Toole, Steve Gutenberg, and Daryl Hannah. I've made a few changes to my RumBelled version (my story is more a romance than a comedy). Thought it would be appropriate for this time of the year. Hope you enjoy :)

As ever, _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters belong to Adam Horowitz, Eddy Kitsis, and ABC: this is just for fun.

 **Rating** : Mature **In progress**

 **Chapter One: The Castle**

Tristan Gold looked out the window as the car swept up the long drive towards Avonlea Castle. He smiled at the sight of the grand building built of Bath stone, with its gothic turrets and spires, situated back a bit from forbidding cliffs. It was everything he knew it would be.

He turned and smiled at Milah. She had her eyes closed, dozing, but now that they'd arrived, it was time to wake up.

'Milah?' he murmured, touching her shoulder: 'we're here, love.'

She jolted awake and sent him a glare.

'What is it?' she snapped.

'We're here: we've arrived,' he said, smiling, ignoring her glare and her snapping at him. They were here to fix their marriage, and he was determined to do that.

'The castle is beautiful: come and look.'

Gold climbed out of the car, holding out his hand for his wife.

Grumbling and muttering to herself, Milah Gold emerged from the car, rolling her eyes at her husband and only taking his hand briefly as she stepped out of the car. Once she'd steadied herself, she let his hand fall.

'What do you think?' Gold asked enthusiastically.

She gave the building a cursory glance. Stone, spires, old architecture: it was more his scene than hers. She'd agreed to come only because of something she'd heard about the place, not for anything to do with their marriage. He could believe that if he wanted, but she wanted out.

'Mm, very pretty,' she pronounced.

He smiled at her and she looked away, rolling her eyes again. He really thought there was hope for them? Pathetic.

'Mr and Mrs Gold, I presume?'

Gold looked over and saw an elderly lady standing in the wide doorway. She had short grey - more like white - hair, and wore a grey wool skirt with a grey jacket and pale pink top beneath. She wore simple black court shoes, a string of pearls, and pearl earrings. He guessed that this was Avonlea Castle's mistress, come to greet them.

He smiled at her and she returned it warmly and came towards them.

'I am Mrs Elinor Potts, the caretaker of Avonlea Castle: you're both very welcome.'

'Thank you,' Gold returned. 'I'm Tristan Gold, and this is my wife, Milah.'

Mrs Potts shook both of their hands, but something about the wife made her smile falter. The husband, she liked, but the wife…

'Well, won't you both come inside and get warmed by the fire? Your bags will be brought up to your room, so don't worry about that. We usually like to welcome our guests with a drink in the library.'

'Sounds lovely,' Gold said, following her in. 'Do you have many guests to stay at a time?'

'Only a handful,' she told him. 'We like to keep things intimate, so there are never more than ten guests at a time. This weekend, we have seven, including you and Mrs Gold. 'Mrs Potts nodded politely over her shoulder at Mrs Gold, who was looking around interestedly at the paintings and up at the crystal chandelier.

'That must make things cosier,' Gold said conversationally.

'It does,' Mrs Potts agreed. 'It also allows me more time with each of the guests. I like to get to know them: they often become like family.'

Gold smiled at the old lady, liking her already.

'Here we are,' she said: 'this is the library.' And she opened the door and invited the new arrivals to enter.

Gold was awed at the sight of the books first: there must have been thousands lining the shelves. He'd love to be able to browse at his leisure, but he could see that there were a number of other people gathered in the long room too.

Two women sat together by one of the long windows. One of the women had striking two-tone hair of black and white, almost like a skunk. He was also pretty sure that was a fur coat she was wearing. The other woman had clear mahogany skin and blonde streaks through her dark hair.

A young man with fair hair sat beside a pretty woman with short dark hair on a couch near the fire. They were holding hands, obviously deeply in love. Honeymooners, Gold guessed, and smiled at the man as their eyes met. The man looked very pleased with himself, and Gold almost laughed.

He had felt the same way, once upon a time, delighted with his new bride, and she had been delighted with him, or so he thought. Over ten years had passed and the discontent and malaise seemed to grow. They weren't his feelings at all, but Milah's. He was perfectly content: he didn't know why she wasn't. He'd done everything he could to make her happy, and the stay here was his last shot. He proposed it a few months ago and Milah didn't seem keen, but then she had come to him later and expressed interest, so he'd booked it.

'You'll see, Milah,' he'd said, 'a romantic castle, beautiful scenery, fresh air: it puts things into perspective. I'm so glad you're giving this a chance.'

She'd smiled and let him kiss her, and he'd really felt like they could fix this. He tried to ignore the way she still pulled away when he touched her, the constant tension between them, her sullenness.

He turned to his wife and found her looking at the last of the guests: a man with black hair, dressed all in black. He was lounging in a chair by the fire, a drink in his hand. He was what would be called conventionally handsome, several years younger than Gold.

The young man caught his eye and nodded. He stood up and stretched out his hand, smiling.

'Killian Jones,' he greeted.

'Tristan Gold,' Gold returned.

'And this fine lady must be your…?'

'My wife: Milah.'

'Ah: pleasure. You're a lucky man, Gold.' Jones smiled widely.

Gold nodded. 'I am.' He smiled at Milah's smile. 'What brings you here, Mr Jones?' he asked.

'Bit of a history buff, actually,' Jones returned, retaking his seat.

'Really?' Gold asked. He indicated for Milah to take the seat opposite Jones, while he sat on the footstool.

Jones laughed. 'I know: I don't look the type.' He leaned forward conspiratorially and Gold did the same. 'Truth be told, an ancestor of mine engaged in a bit of piracy around these parts: I came to see if I could find out a bit about him.'

'Oh, right,' Gold said. 'What was his name? Would we have heard of him?'

'He went by Hook: had a hook where his left hand should be, apparently. He's supposed to have looted this place: moored his ship in the bay below and surprised everyone one night.'

'When was this?' Gold asked.

'About two hundred years ago. Exactly, actually: happened in 1816, so the story goes.'

'Wow,' Gold said. 'What an interesting family tree you have, Mr Jones.'

Jones smiled. 'And what brings you two here?' he asked, looking from Gold to Milah.

'Bit of a second honeymoon,' Gold said, taking Milah's hand. 'We thought a bit of a change for a while might do us some good.'

'Yes,' Milah agreed, smiling tightly at her husband. Oh, she wished he'd shut up about this second honeymoon crap.

'Ladies and gentlemen?' Mrs Potts called. She smiled as everyone turned to her. 'Now that you've all arrived, I just want to welcome you all again. We do hope you'll enjoy your stay here at Avonlea Castle. If there's anything I, our butler Mr Cogsworth, our chef Lumiere, or our footman Jefferson can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please do let us know.'

As she spoke, Mrs Potts indicated the two men standing on either side of her. One, a thin man with sandy hair, dressed in chef's whites, was obviously Lumiere, while the other, a squat man with a round face and neatly slicked back hair, and wearing an immaculate tail coat and spit-polished shoes, was certainly the butler. The younger man with the brown hair and dressed in elegant blue and gold livery standing by a side table was obviously Jefferson.

'Well, be nice to see how the other half lives, eh, Gold?' Jones asked jovially.

Gold smiled.

The butler approached.

'May I get you something to drink, sir: madam?'

Gold and Milah ordered drinks, and Milah went off to chat with the women sitting by the window. Jones got into conversation with the newlyweds and Gold joined in for a moment, until one of the paintings caught his eye.

He excused himself and went to look, inexplicably drawn in.

The painting was of a young woman with chestnut curls, beautiful blue eyes, and the softest looking skin. She couldn't have been more than twenty. She wore a blue gown from the Regency period and smiled a sweet smile. She was stunningly beautiful.

'Do you like the painting, Mr Gold?'

He turned to find Mrs Potts watching him. She smiled.

'I'm sorry if I startled you.'

He shook his head. 'It's fine: I was just… I do like it, yes,' he said. 'Who is the young lady?'

'It's a rather tragic story,' she said. 'Her name was Belle. She was the only child of the fourth earl. She was murdered here not long after that painting was completed. She was twenty.'

'Murdered?'

'By a pirate who had come to loot the castle when her father was away. Lady Belle tried to stop him, and she, and a boy who had tried to come to her rescue, were both murdered. The pirate got away, but her father tracked him down and killed him. He died shortly after himself, of a broken heart.'

'That's awful,' Gold said, looking up at the painting again. She seemed so alive to him… For some odd reason, it was important to him to know as much as he could about her, about this place.

'When was that?' he asked: 'how long ago?'

'It happened in 1816, two hundred years ago.'

Gold nodded and forced himself to turn away from the painting, though his curiosity to learn more was still present. It was just that if he continued to look into the beautiful, life-like eyes, he might very well drown in them.

'There must be a lot of history here, Mrs Potts,' he said.

'There is, Mr Gold,' she agreed, 'a great deal. Would you like to hear some more?'

'I would love to,' he said.

She smiled and led him over to another seating area. She smiled as he kept looking at the painting of Belle. Yes, she liked this man, and she felt he belonged here.

0

Gold and Milah were shown to their room so they could get ready before dinner. It was a comfortable room, romantic, with a beautiful four-poster bed. Milah seemed uninterested in taking advantage of the time alone, though.

'I wish you wouldn't tell everyone we're here on a second honeymoon,' she complained.

'Why shouldn't I?' he asked.

'Because I don't want everyone knowing our business. Some things are private.'

'Alright,' he said, in attempt to placate her, 'I won't tell anyone else.'

'Good. What time is dinner?'

'An hour,' he told her.

'Wake me ten minutes before, then,' she instructed: 'I'm exhausted after travelling.'

'Of course,' he said. 'I'll take a walk and let you get some rest.'

She didn't reply and he left quietly, disappointed that she seemed uninterested in trying to rekindle their romance. Trying to forget about the unpleasant tension between them, he wandered through the castle.

After a while, he came to what he realised was the West wing. Mrs Potts had told him that no guests ever stayed here, but the area didn't seem to be off limits, so he walked down the hall, looking into dim rooms with shuttered windows and everything covered in dust sheets.

He found he liked this part of the castle as much as the rest, maybe even more. Everything was old and quiet, but there was still a life about it, an energy that drew him in deeper. He was reminded of the painting of the young lady — Belle — and he wondered if he might find something that was once hers here somewhere.

He was so preoccupied by his exploration that he almost forgot the time and had to hurry back to wake Milah.

She didn't thank him, and was sullen and prickly as they went down to dinner.

0

The other guests were nice. Gold liked the young newlyweds, and the two women were rather glamorous and interesting. The woman with the interesting black and white hair introduced herself as Ella De Vil, a fashion designer from London. He might have guessed she was in fashion by her dress and her interesting hair. She had heavy eye make up, red lips, and a plummy accent. Her companion was American, an opera singer called Ursula Caspian. Gold understood without needing to be told that they were a couple.

Ella liked gin and called everyone darling. She had a rather careless way about her, but she noticed everything. Her partner was quieter, but had a beautiful singing voice, which Gold learned when Ella entreated her to sing for them after dinner. It was obvious that singing gave her great joy: her radiant smile as she finished an aria told Gold as much, and he clapped enthusiastically and thanked her when she was done.

Mrs Potts was a kind and warm hostess. Gold imagined that her guests saw in her a favourite aunt or doting grandmother. It wasn't a surprise to him that Avonlea Castle was such a popular retreat with this beneficent lady at the helm.

Two things dampened his spirits: Milah's discontent and Mr Jones. He was used to Milah, but it upset him that she wasn't even interested in trying to enjoy this.

Jones… There was something about the man Gold didn't like, despite the joviality of their first meeting. There was something predatory about him, something waiting to take advantage. He'd almost think someone was in danger from him if he didn't know he was being ridiculous. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being in an old castle, and the fact that it was so close to Halloween, but he almost thought that a ghost had risen from the dead. He couldn't help thinking of the pirate who'd murdered the young beauty in the painting when he looked at him. It had occurred to him that he was the ancestor Jones spoke of.

He shook himself a little and smiled at Mrs Potts' curious look.

'Something wrong, Mr Gold?' she asked kindly.

'Nothing…just… You know that feeling you get when you feel as though someone's walking over your grave?'

'Oh, yes,' she said, something almost conspiratorial in her eyes: 'we often feel that here, those of us who are used to the place.'

'You're not trying to tell us there are ghosts here, are you, darling?' Ella asked, smiling in a way that said she clearly didn't believe in such things.

'I believe that the worlds of the dead and the living overlap more than most people realise,' Mrs Potts said quite seriously. 'Some people feel it more than others do.'

She looked at him again, and he thought she was almost pleased.

'I don't believe in ghosts,' David Nolan, the newlywed, declared, holding his wife's hand. A real prince charming type, Gold thought: the kind who would go dashing in to save a damsel in distress if they were in a story book.

'I do,' his wife, Mary Margaret, returned quietly. 'Sometimes I think my mother is still here, watching over me. Maybe not a ghost, exactly, but her spirit.'

Her husband smiled and hugged her, kissing her forehead, and silently saying that he believed whatever she believed.

Gold smiled at them, and then felt a stab of pain at the thought that he and Milah had lost that closeness forever. Had they ever really had it to begin with?

'What about you, Gold: believe in ghosts?' Jones asked in a derisive, too-loud voice, startling him out of his melancholy thought.

He looked at the man and recoiled at his thinly-veiled sneer. Oh, that was a look of derision, alright, but Gold had no clue what he'd done to deserve it.

'Just because I can't see it doesn't mean it's not real, Mr Jones,' he returned, as politely as he could, and turned away.

He was angry, furious, and he didn't know why.

'Another drink, Mr Gold?' Cogsworth asked.

He nodded gratefully, and took the proffered Scotch with both hands, taking a big gulp.

0

It was late. Milah had gone to bed, but Gold was enjoying the company of the other guests, so he stayed where he was in the cosy drawing room. Jones left shortly after Milah. Gold was glad to see him go. He and the others stayed up chatting for another hour, but finally Gold was getting bleary-eyed, and the others were going to bed anyway, so he headed up too.

He was thinking of falling into a dreamless sleep when he opened the door to his room. Oddly, the light was still on: he'd thought Milah would be sound asleep by now. It took him several seconds to realise that not only was Milah awake, but she was very much not alone. She and Jones were in bed together, naked, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to realise what they'd been doing before he walked in on them.

 **To be continued**

Next time, Gold has a very strange dream…


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the feedback so far. Here's chapter two. We meet Belle briefly here, but she'll be more present in the next chapter.

 **Chapter Two: The Dream**

'M-Milah,' he breathed, staggering backwards, 'why?'

'Oh, don't go playing the victim, Tristan,' she said impatiently: 'you know I haven't been happy for years.'

'All I ever tried to _do_ was make you happy!' he said, betrayal evident in his tone. 'You didn't come here for me: you came to be with him! How long has this been going on?'

She didn't answer him.

'How _long_ , Milah?'

'A year,' she returned harshly, cornered.

He gasped. 'And you let me believe we had a chance of fixing this? You let me hope we could get back what we had!'

'Ugh, what we had,' she scoffed.

'We didn't have anything, did we?' he asked, suddenly sure of it. 'You never loved me, did you?'

'No,' she said, with firm finality.

He wanted to cry or scream or hurt her, or maybe all three.

'I would have given you anything you wanted, Milah, anything, as long as you were honest with me, but you hadn't got the decency for that! Why did you marry me if you didn't love me?'

'You really want me to say it?' she demanded.

'I want you to be honest with me for once.'

'Fine, I married you for your money.'

He nodded, blinking.

'I should've realised,' he said quietly. 'Why else? I would have given you enough to live comfortably on for the rest of your life, Milah. If you came and told me the only way you could be happy was if I agreed to a divorce, I would have done it to make you happy. Now, though, you won't get a penny from me.'

'I don't need your money any more!' she spat.

'Oh, I see,' he said, looking from her to Jones. 'He's got money, does he? Wonder how he feels knowing you only like men for their money.'

'I love him,' she declared.

Gold nodded again. 'Right,' he said. 'Well, I'll be leaving in the morning. I'll send for my things.'

He didn't wait for a reply. He walked out, letting the door bang shut behind him. He'd wasted enough years and enough emotion on this sham of a marriage.

Oh, it hurt, though, to learn that none of it was real. How could he have been such a fool?

He stumbled down the hall, unable to bear the rawness of his soul, of the wound she'd inflicted. He wanted to numb it, make the pain go away, and he knew a way.

He lurched down the stairs and into the bar.

'What can I get for you, Mr Gold?' the genial footman on duty asked. Jefferson was his name, Gold remembered.

'Scotch: bring the bottle.'

0

He was very drunk: he knew this, but being very drunk had numbed his pain, so drunk was good. He was alone now. Jefferson had finished up about 2am, after bringing him another bottle of Scotch. He'd brought it reluctantly, of course, but he had brought it.

'Is there anything I can do for you, sir?' he'd asked kindly.

Gold had shook his head. 'Nothing anyone can do. You don't have to stay. I'll finish this and go to bed.'

'Do you promise you will?' the man asked.

'Aye,' Gold said, registering the concern and still feeling confused by it.

'Promise you won't…'

Gold looked up at him blearily, confused when he trailed off.

'Look, although my shift's finished, I'm going to stay on call,' Jefferson told him. 'Please, ring the bell if you need someone, Mr Gold. Don't be alone, ok? Promise me?'

The entreaty jolted him a little and he frowned. What was the young man so worried about? That he was going to do something to harm himself? He laughed in surprise.

'You don't have to worry that I'd do myself a mischief: I wouldn't have the guts to kill myself, lad,' he said bluntly.

The young man stared at him grimly.

'It's just…things always seem darkest before the dawn,' he said. 'It'll get better. It might not seem like it now, but it will.'

'Thank you,' Gold said, grateful for the attempt at comfort, even if he didn't believe things really would get better.

The young man left him alone and he took a swig from the bottle, but then put it down. Getting even drunker didn't really appeal to him any more. He was very sad, suddenly.

Of course, Milah had broken his heart, but that wasn't where the sadness was coming from. He was almost resigned about that, had almost expected it. Oh. That came as a surprise. _Had_ he expected it? No, not exactly, but…well, he wasn't surprised about it: put it that way.

She'd never loved him. Some part of him had known this. It must have, since it didn't hurt like it should. That might just have been the alcohol, though.

Why was he so sad? What had he said to Jefferson? He wouldn't have the guts to kill himself: that was it. He didn't actually want to kill himself: he wasn't that devastated, and that surprised him too.

It was guts, he realised, or his lack thereof: that was what had him sad. He wasn't brave, never had been, but, oh, he wanted to be. He wanted to be brave: he did. He'd let Milah walk all over him, for years. He wasn't brave: he was a coward.

Angry, he left the Scotch and stumbled out of the room. Where was he going? Not to see Milah (coward). He didn't want to see her: it wouldn't change anything anyway. Where was he going?

Library: he was pushing open the door of the library. The painting… Yes, there it was on the wall. She was beautiful. Lady Belle. So young and lovely.

'You died before your time and I've barely lived,' he murmured. 'I'm sorry,' he said then, though not sure what for. Perhaps it was for the futility of it all, or for the fact that he was such a waste of space. She shouldn't have died. He should have done more with his life. It was all so unjust.

Lady Belle seemed to smile sympathetically at him, or maybe it was encouragingly. It was weird: it was a painting, but she seemed so alive, so much more alive than him.

Oh, he'd gotten very maudlin. Time to put a stop to this nonsense. He might sleep now that he'd been numbed. He could try, anyway. He had to drive back in the morning, so he should try to get some sleep.

He looked at the painting wistfully again and then stumbled out. She was a painting, coloured pigments on canvas, not real.

He needed somewhere to sleep, he realised, his train of thought stumbling drunkenly along with his feet. Where to sleep?

His unsteady steps took him to the West wing and a room he'd passed earlier and looked into. It was quiet, out of the way. The old bed looked like it might be comfortable.

He couldn't find a light switch. This part of the castle must not have been modernised. Oh, well: he didn't need light if he was just wanting to sleep.

Groping around in the dark, he found the bed and pitched forward onto it. He was sleepy now. Strange, he thought, as he drifted off, the room wasn't musty and the linen was fresh: it was as though it was waiting for someone.

0

He awoke to the light of a candle. Strange: he hadn't lit a candle. Someone was in the room as well: two someones, actually. He could see them at the end of the bed, illuminated by the one flickering candle. They were a boy in his teens, whose face he could see, and a woman with long brown hair, whose back was to him. The boy was almost as tall as her. He spoke urgently.

'He's looking for treasure: I came to tell you. He'll kill me if he finds me here.'

'Then he will not find you,' the woman's voice said determinedly. 'You risked your life to warn me: I will protect you.'

The boy dropped his head. 'I'm nothing but a pirate, milady, not worth your concern.'

'You are no pirate. You risked his wrath to help me: I'll ensure that my father knows that.'

Their voices were echoes in the night to Gold as he lay watching them. _Must be dreaming_ , he thought.

There came a bang and the sound of footsteps.

'It's Hook!' the boy hissed.

'Come, quickly,' the woman beseeched, grabbing for his hand, but there was a different kind of bang then and the boy gasped and fell back, his fingers brushing the woman's as he fell.

'No!' she screeched.

Gold could see the blood staining the boy's shirt.

'Run!' the boy gasped, using his dying breath.

'Too late for that, worm,' a different voice spat, and Gold's heart lurched with shock as he saw the very image of Killian Jones standing in the candlelight.

'You!' the woman cried. 'You killed him, you monster!'

The woman seemed torn between attacking him and running away from him. The man, Hook, used her indecision to advance on her.

'Aye, and I'll kill you too if you don't tell me where that treasure is,' he growled.

'There _is_ no treasure,' she told him.

'I kill people who lie to me, wench,' he snarled, and raised his gun, pointing it at her.

'No,' Gold breathed, seeing the woman freeze in fear.

Before he realised it, he was standing between the woman and the pirate, and then the gun went off, the puff of smoke from the shot rising into the air and dispersing.

Gold had felt something barrel into his chest and he dropped to his knees. In his drunken haze, he realised he'd been shot. _Hmm, no blood, though_ , he realised, looking down. _No blood in dreams_ , he told himself, which made sense to his foggy mind.

The pirate was looking down at him, frowning. It seemed like he was only just realising he was there. Then Gold blinked and the man was gone.

'Oh, sir,' the woman breathed, voice full of awe.

He was lying on the ground and she was crouching over him. She had the most beautiful eyes: blue, deep pools of blue. She looked familiar…

'Sir, you saved my life,' she told him, staring at him.

He shook his head.

'You did,' she insisted. 'I was supposed to die, and you… Oh, thank you…thank you…'

He heard and saw no more: he passed out there on the floor.

 **To be continued**

Next time, Gold has some very strange hallucinations, or are they…?


	3. Chapter 3

Suffering from his drunken binge, Gold is sure he's seeing things, but is he?

 **Chapter Three: The Apparition**

He awoke with his head feeling like it was splitting in two. Then he realised he was lying at a weird angle. Wait, he was lying on the floor.

He tried sitting up and everything hurt. His muscles were stiff and they protested as he tried to arrange himself in a sitting position.

Where on earth was he? What the hell had happened last night?

Milah…and Jones. Yes. He'd drank a lot of Scotch and then found his way here. He looked around. Whatever room he was in hadn't been modernised. Weird. It still felt lived in, somehow. There were no cobwebs or dust.

He remembered now: he was in a room in the West wing. He'd liked this part of the castle yesterday. He liked this room, only…he'd had the oddest dream…

His chest was sore. Probably a consequence of lying on the floor all night. How had he ended up sleeping on the floor anyway?

Yes, he'd had a weird dream. He'd gotten out of bed to protect a woman from a pirate, and the pirate had shot him instead.

Panicking, not remembering this had been a dream, he looked down at his chest, having to crane his neck awkwardly to do so. No wound: no blood. _Of course there wasn't, idiot: you were dreaming. Felt real enough…_

She'd thanked him, the woman. He closed his eyes and could see her face. Ethereal beauty he felt he'd seen before. The image of her made him gasp and his heart yearn. She'd said he saved her life and thanked him. It sounded like it had come from the bottom of her heart.

It was a dream, though: had to be. Still, he wasn't sure of anything any more. This romantic old castle had gotten to him.

He got up slowly, his chest aching, limbs protesting. He needed food, and to pack, and something for this blasted headache. He'd have to face Milah, and her…lover. He'd rather never have to see either of them again, but _he_ hadn't done anything wrong.

0

'What on earth happened to you?'

He looked up to see Ella and Ursula ahead of him, just on their way in to breakfast. How was he going to explain the fact that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes?

'Ella,' Ursula murmured, obviously seeing his uncertainty.

'Well, never mind, darling. Join us for breakfast?'

He sent Ella a small smile. 'I'm not sure food's a good idea right now,' he confessed.

'Hair of the dog, then? What's your poison? Mine's gin.'

'Scotch,' he admitted.

'Come on: I'll order you one.'

'I don't think that's such a good idea either. I need to drive back today.'

Both women looked at him.

'Well, you're in no state to go anywhere yet,' Ursula told him. 'Try some tea and toast, at least.'

He recognised that she was concerned for him, so he nodded.

He was just following them in when he happened to look up. He gasped. There, standing in the stairwell was the woman from his dream.

She was smiling as she made her way down the last half-flight of stairs.

She was wearing a blue dress, but it was way out of style, more appropriate for a Jane Austen adaptation than the twenty-first century. That didn't seem to faze her, though. She kept coming, smiling warmly. He knew it couldn't be at him, though. She was probably smiling at someone behind him and he was in her eye line.

'Darling?'

He turned to see Ella looking at him, a perfectly plucked eyebrow arched dramatically.

He looked back at the stairs, but the woman from his dream had gone, vanished.

'Darling, what's the matter?' Ella queried: 'you look as though you've seen a ghost.'

'I, uh, I think I could use that drink after all,' he said feebly. What the hell had he just seen?

'You're white as a sheet,' Ella commented, concerned.

0

The Scotch didn't do much to calm him and Ella and Ursula stared at him, not hiding their worry.

'Perhaps one of us should speak to your wife,' Ursula suggested.

'No,' he snapped. 'No,' he said more gently. 'Thank you, but no.'

'Trouble between you?' Ella asked astutely.

'Yes,' he returned, not wanting to talk about it.

'Darling, I've had four husbands,' Ella told him: 'I know all about marital trouble, believe me.'

Gold closed his eyes. 'You know that man, Jones?' he asked quietly.

'Yes, of course.'

'Milah didn't come here to be with me: she came here for him. When I went back to our room last night, I found them together. We're getting a divorce.'

What was the point in trying to hide it? Everyone would know when he left later on and Milah was still here, with Jones.

'I'm sorry,' Ursula said simply.

'Oh, darling,' Ella added sympathetically.

'What will you do?'

'I'm leaving,' he said. 'I came here to work on saving our marriage, but now I know there's nothing to save: there never was.'

Both of them looked sympathetically at him. He knew they meant well, but he didn't want the attention.

'If you'll excuse me, ladies, I need to see about checking out.'

He stood without waiting for them to respond and made his way towards the reception desk.

He had to pass the library and saw that the door was ajar. An image of the painting of Lady Belle flashed into his mind and his heart clenched. The woman from his dream looked just like her…

He had to check, be sure he wasn't mistaken. It wouldn't surprise him if he was: he was so mixed up, his mind was so addled.

He knew it even before he approached: it was her. Same face, same hair, same eyes, same dress, even. She was wearing that dress when he saw her on the stairs too. Oh, what on earth was wrong with him?

'Hello.'

He cursed and jumped, turning quickly and almost losing his balance.

A hand reached out to him and he looked along the bare arm to the blue fabric covering the shoulder. Then he saw brown hair, a beautiful face, and bottomless blue eyes.

It was her: Lady Belle, but it couldn't be. He was going mad.

He stepped backwards and she seemed to too, and then she seemed to fade into nothing.

He sat down, trembling and sick. Nothing like this had ever happened to him because of drinking before. He hadn't gotten the shock he'd gotten last night either, though. But other people didn't learn of their spouse's affairs and then start seeing… He didn't want to think the word 'ghost', but it came. Was he seeing a ghost? It seemed ridiculous, but it was more preferable to the idea that he was going mad.

No, he was just stressed. He didn't believe in ghosts. He couldn't have seen what he thought he had: he'd be locked up if anyone ever knew about this. Well, he wasn't going to tell them. He'd speak to Mrs Potts about checking out early and then he'd go. He needed to get away.

0

'Mr Gold, good morning.' Elinor Potts smiled at the man, but then frowned. He did not look well. 'Is everything quite alright, Mr Gold?' she asked gently.

'I'm very sorry, Mrs Potts,' he said, 'but I must leave. The fact is that my…wife…and I aren't seeing eye to eye. We've decided to separate and I think it would be best for all concerned if I left.'

Elinor knew at once that there was more to it. She knew also that she couldn't let him leave. She'd felt it yesterday: this man needed to be here.

'Mr Gold, I don't think it would be right of me to let you leave until you've at least eaten something. You do look quite pale. Won't you come to my sitting room and let me order you something?'

She knew she was doing the right thing when the warmth rushed around her like a hug. She needed to find out what was going on with him.

Gold gave in because he liked the lady and didn't want to offend her. He'd enjoyed her company yesterday as well and he didn't want to leave without saying a proper goodbye.

0

'Well, dear, I'm sorry to hear about you and your wife.' It was the polite thing to say, so she said it, though something told her that this would be for the best in the end.

'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'I should have seen it coming, though. She hasn't been happy for a long time. I thought I could fix it, but I don't think she ever loved me to begin with.' He didn't mind opening up to Mrs Potts: he knew she wouldn't judge him.

'Tell me, Mr Gold: were _you_ happy?'

If he thought about it…

'No,' he confessed, and it felt good to say it.

Mrs Potts nodded, as if she knew it.

'I don't think you should leave yet,' she said quietly.

'I'm sorry?'

'I think you came here for a reason, Mr Gold, and I don't think you should leave just yet.'

She was completely serious, he saw.

He shook his head. 'You don't understand, Mrs Potts, I can't stay here. I can't explain it, I just…'

'You saw something, didn't you?' she asked.

'What?'

'Do you remember what I said last night, about the worlds of the dead and the living overlapping?'

He stared suspiciously at her.

'You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Mr Gold? You saw, didn't you?'

'I _don't_ know what you're talking about,' he said uncomfortably, standing to leave.

'I see them too,' she told him, and he froze in the process of walking away. 'There _are_ ghosts in this castle, Mr Gold. You did see one, didn't you?'

She sounded hopeful, and if she saw them too…

'I don't know what I saw, Mrs Potts,' he said quietly. 'I was very drunk: I might have been hallucinating.'

'Do you think that you were?' she asked softly, anticipation building.

She wanted him to say no, he realised: she wanted not to be alone with her sixth sense.

'N-no,' he said. Well, if he was mad, at least he wasn't alone.

'Do you mind telling me what it was that you saw?' she asked.

He came back and sat down again, and told her about his odd dream and seeing the woman from the painting on the stairs and then in the library.

Elinor didn't say anything as he spoke, but the more he said, the more she knew that he was meant to be here.

'The worlds of the living and the dead overlap more than people think, as I said, but within that overlapping, there are many different levels. What you're experiencing is unheard of, Mr Gold.'

'I thought you said you saw them too,' he said, recoiling.

'I do,' she soothed, 'but I cannot influence what happens to them: you, on the other hand, can, and have.'

'What do you mean?'

'You stepped between Belle and the pirate. The bullet that killed her hit you instead. That's not a usual occurrence in ghost contact, Mr Gold.'

'What exactly are you telling me?'

'You've changed things. You must understand something, Mr Gold, ghosts are only here for two reasons: they have unfinished business or they died traumatically and their souls can't rest until they get some kind of justice, which is a kind of unfinished business in itself. When you stepped between Lady Belle and the pirate, when you took the force of that bullet, you pulled her out of the cycle she's gone through every night for two hundred years. Things are different for her now, because of you.'

'But she's still dead?'

'Yes.'

'So what I did didn't actually change anything significant, did it?'

'That remains to be seen. You and Belle share some connection that goes beyond life and death. You're linked across time, Mr Gold: you must stay and let whatever is going on play itself out. You can't leave.'

He stared at her. She was in complete earnest and, even if it was crazy, he saw that she was right. It was completely off the wall, but…he felt he needed to stay.

'I don't know what I can do to help her,' he said.

'There are some books you could look at. One of the earls was interested in the paranormal and left an extensive collection of research behind him. And Belle will probably try to make contact again. She hasn't spoken with any mortals aside from me since she died and she will want to talk to you. Please don't be afraid of her: she can't hurt you.'

'I'd like to talk to her,' he said, knowing it was true, 'but she disappeared.'

'Because you pulled away. You must believe, Mr Gold: do you understand?'

'I think I do,' he said.

0

There was no one in the library, which was good. He'd found the research Mrs Potts had directed him to and was engrossed in it. The seventh earl, some kind of cousin of Belle's, shared the Victorian obsession with the paranormal and spirituality. He'd conducted seances and kept detailed notes: he'd had experts to the castle to commune with the spirits, and it seemed he'd even had some success.

There were notes here about conversations with ghosts. One was a boy: Gold realised it was the same boy from last night. His name was Bailey, and he'd been a cabin boy on a pirate ship. He'd hated his captain, and when he heard about the intended raid on this castle, he'd tried to stop him, but the captain had shot him. Now, he haunted the castle, unable to rest in peace. Gold realised the pirate was Hook, Jones' ancestor.

Every night, the scene played out again, Bailey said. He found the lady, tried to help, and the captain came and shot him. He was fourteen, and his spirit lingered here still. Such a sad story, Gold thought.

There was something interesting about Halloween in the notes. Apparently, Halloween was the one night of the year that spirits became corporeal. They could walk abroad again, do all the things they'd done in life. The boy - Bailey - said it was the only reprieve they had.

Gold pushed the papers away and rested his head against the back of the chair. If someone had told him yesterday he'd be immersed in research about ghosts, he wouldn't have believed them. Yet, here he was, delving into the mysteries of life and death, all because of the woman from the painting.

Would she really come to him? He didn't know why she'd want to, but he'd be here if she did.

Tired, he allowed himself to drift off, eventually falling asleep in the chair.

He woke abruptly, sensing a presence. When his eyes opened, they fixed immediately on blue. Frowning, he tried to make out the shape.

He gasped as he realised what he was seeing.

'Hello,' she said softly, her voice echoing.

'H-hello,' he replied. 'You're the woman from the painting, aren't you: Lady Belle?'

'Yes,' she said, and smiled the most breathtaking smile, 'but I don't know your name, sir.'

'Tristan Gold,' he said.

'Well, Mr Gold, thank you once again for what you did.' And he watched her dip into an elegant curtsey.

'I'm still not sure what I did,' he confessed.

She came close, crouching down by his chair. He didn't even think to recoil: he knew she wouldn't hurt him.

'I relive my death every night,' she told him, looking up into his face: 'that is, every night until last night. Because of what you did, because you took that bullet for me, I'm free. I never have to experience that again.'

'So, you can move on, then: go to heaven or the afterlife or…?'

'I don't think so,' she told him.

'But why? I can't imagine you ever hurt anyone. You don't deserve to linger here.'

'Thank you,' she said, smiling up at him. 'I don't think I can move on because…because part of me doesn't want to.'

'Unfinished business?'

'Perhaps.'

'I'd like to help you, if I can.'

'Thank you, but why would you want to?'

'I feel responsible for you being stuck here.'

'You're not,' she insisted: 'you helped me, so much.'

'Well, I…Mrs Potts said that we're connected, you and I, because of what I did. I can feel that connection.' He could. He knew it wasn't normal, but he could feel her here, like she was really alive. Part of her was, he knew: part of her was very alive, the most important part of her.

She raised her hand, as if she would touch him, and she kept it hovering next to his cheek.

'You can't feel that, can you?' she asked, almost plaintively.

'No,' he said apologetically, 'but I feel you here. I felt it when I looked at your painting too: you're so alive.'

'That's why I can't move on: I'm not ready to. There's still so much I want.'

'Like what?'

'I wanted to see the world. My father laughed at that, but I couldn't help it. I was determined to go, one day.'

'Can you? Could you leave the castle?'

She shook her head sadly.

'What else, then: what else do you want?' If he couldn't help her do that, there must be something else he could help her do.

She looked up at him, eyes clear and bright, and he stared down at her as she bit her lip.

'Oh, I want…'

'Tell me,' he prompted.

She laughed awkwardly, shook her head and stood, turning away.

'It doesn't matter.'

'It does to me,' he said gently.

She sent him an uncertain smile over her shoulder.

'Please tell me.' He'd do anything to make her happy.

'Perhaps later,' she said, and turned to him with a smile. 'What are you reading?'

'The seventh earl's research: he was interested in ghosts.'

'Oh, I remember him,' she said, smiling: 'people called him a lunatic, but everything he's written is true.'

'The boy who was with you last night talked to him.'

'Poor Bailey,' she said sadly. 'I still wish I could have helped him.'

'He was very brave.'

'So were you.'

He shook his head. 'Hardly.'

'What made you do that: what made you step between me and Hook?'

'I didn't want you to be hurt.'

'So you put your life in danger for mine: that's very brave.'

'That happened to you every night?'

'Yes. It's never been as bad as the first time: you don't feel the pain the same way once you're dead, but you feel the echo, and that's painful enough.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I know you are.' She smiled. 'You know, this is my favourite room in the castle,' she said lightly, changing the subject.

'You like books?' Whatever she wanted to talk about was fine with him.

'I love them.' She went to one of the shelves and drew her fingertips along the spines. 'I miss them.'

Of course she couldn't touch them: she was incorporeal, while the books were physical things. Everything about her was so achingly sad.

'I could read to you, if you like,' he suggested.

She smiled at him, her eyes shining. 'I would like that.'

'Choose one,' he invited, standing and moving closer.

She bit her lip again and he thought it the most adorable gesture. She looked along the shelves, but then they heard a noise outside.

'Someone's coming,' she whispered, and he watched, eyes wide, as she began to fade into nothing.

'Don't!' He reached out, but, of course, he couldn't touch her. He longed so much to touch her.

'I'll come back,' she promised, her voice barely a whisper on the air.

The relief he felt when he heard that surprised him, but this was turning out to be a very surprising day.

 **To be continued**

Next time, there's some opposition to Belle and Gold.

Author's note: I wanted to comment about Belle's speech. I decided that, although Belle died in 1816, her speech would be influenced by hearing the way people speak now. Thus, although her speech is a little archaic, she does contract words, so she says things like can't and don't rather than cannot and do not. When I tried writing her speaking strictly as a Regency person would have, she sounded cold rather than the warm character she is, so I compromised with the contractions, while still having her speak somewhat archaically.


	4. Chapter 4

Someone disapproves of Belle spending time with Gold, and Mrs Potts steps in.

 **Chapter Four: Opposition**

Belle's spirit hurtled joyfully down empty corridors. Oh, what a wonderful morning! She'd been so sad to think she wouldn't get to talk to him, but then she had, and it had been lovely.

He was a kind man. She had known by his eyes that he would be. She'd seen him yesterday, looking at her painting, but she had keep her distance because of the other people. Elinor had asked all the ghosts to stay away from the guests in case they were sensitive to them. Most people never knew there were ghosts here, but, occasionally, there came someone who had the right sense, who could feel their presence.

Belle had never known someone to change a ghost's fate before, though. She'd assumed she was doomed to relive her death every night for eternity, but then he'd stepped between her and the pirate, and now she was free. Just knowing she'd never have to face Hook again filled her with such relief. She felt so unburdened, so joyful. She couldn't keep in her energy as she raced down hallways in the mostly-deserted West wing.

Mostly deserted really meant inhabited by ghosts. Ghosts usually hung around where there wasn't much habitation by mortals, and since the West wing hadn't been renovated in decades, guests didn't tend to come here much: the ghosts liked it that way. Some of them had been resident here for many hundreds of years, and they hadn't really liked it when Elinor decided to invite guests to stay, though it had been necessary to keep the castle in good repair. At least she had left the West wing untouched, so the ghosts could have peace too. Occasionally, a guest did happen to wander this way, curious about the castle. That was what had happened yesterday, when the man came exploring, and the ghosts had made themselves scarce while he was around. All but Belle, of course. That girl had always been drawn to mortals, probably because she was so young when she died. But Bailey was younger and he tended to steer clear of the living, apart from his conversations with the seventh earl. Belle, though…she seemed more alive than everyone else, despite being dead two hundred years, and there was something about that man who came yesterday that seemed to catch her attention.

Faye had been married to one of Belle's ancestors before he murdered her. She'd been here several hundred years and was one of the oldest ghosts. That being so, she had a kind of authority here, and the other ghosts respected her. She was rather fond of Belle, but she didn't understand her half the time. The girl's attraction to the mortals confused her, but what had happened last night worried her. The other ghosts were talking about it: it had disturbed them. None of them had ever heard of such a thing before, and they all knew something out of the ordinary was about to happen.

'My dear, could you please stop whirling about like that: you are disturbing the others.'

Faye had been watching Belle flit around, expending her energy, for some time. She knew that the girl didn't know she had an audience, but what she'd said was true: the other ghosts were disturbed.

Belle forced herself to stand still as she turned to Faye.

'I'm sorry, Faye,' she said penitently: 'I didn't mean to disturb anyone. I'm just so restless and excited.' She rushed forward. 'I talked to him!' she said, excitement bubbling forth.

'Yes, I know, dear.' Faye glided on and Belle followed.

'You don't approve?' Belle asked.

'I'm not sure, dear. I am not sure he did a good thing last night.'

'How can you say so?' Belle demanded, shocked. 'He saved me!'

'And what happens now?' Faye asked her. 'What do you think will happen when he leaves?'

'He won't leave.'

'He is mortal: you are a ghost: my dear, what do you think can come of this?'

'I don't know,' Belle said, 'but I do know that something magical happened last night. He saved me, and I…'

'You what, dear?' Faye asked, and turned to see what passed for a blush on Belle's pale cheek. 'My dear… My dear, you cannot be serious.'

'Why can't I?' Belle demanded.

'Are you seriously thinking you are in love with this man?'

'Why not?'

'He is married, for a start, and he is mortal. What on earth are you thinking of, Belle?'

'It's All Hallow's Eve tomorrow: when the sun sets, I will be corporeal again.'

'Only until dawn,' Faye reminded her.

'I know, but—'

'I think you should put whatever you are imagining can happen between you out of your head at once, Belle,' Faye warned: 'you are being ridiculous.'

Belle lifted her chin defiantly. 'I think that there is a reason he was able to save me. Ellie told him he and I are connected and I believe we are.'

Faye studied the girl. Such a thing was unheard of and she would not have the other ghosts disturbed. It was her duty to put a stop to this nonsense.

'Belle, I want you to stay away from this man,' she said now.

'I can't,' Belle protested: 'don't ask me to do that.'

'It has got the other ghosts overwrought: it is going to cause trouble. It is for the best, dear.'

'No,' Belle disagreed: 'no, I will not. I cannot stay away from him, and you can't make me!' And she sped off, away from Faye, off to find Ellie.

0

Elinor could feel Belle's presence the moment she walked into her room. Belle was upset.

'What happened?' Elinor asked.

'Faye wants me to stay away from Mr Gold,' Belle said, cold energy blasting from her that made Elinor shiver.

Elinor reached for a shawl and wrapped it around herself.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Ellie,' Belle said, drifting away. She knew that Elinor was sensitive to her energies: she always had been, ever since she was a little girl. Belle could remember the first time she met her, how wide Ellie's eyes had gone, how excited she had been to get to talk to a mortal again. Ellie had been afraid for a while, so Belle couldn't maintain the connection between them, but, gradually, Ellie grew less frightened, and they were able to talk together. Belle hadn't shared a bond like this with anyone, until Mr Gold came.

'Don't worry about it, Belle,' Elinor said, smiling. 'I know you're upset: you always give off cold energy when you're upset. Faye can't keep you from seeing Mr Gold.'

'No?'

'No. Whatever is happening between you and he won't be stopped by anyone. Whatever this is, it's meant to be.'

'Do you really think so?' Belle asked hopefully.

'I'm certain of it.'

Belle nodded, satisfied. Ellie had always known things. She had a sixth sense, and Belle trusted it.

'I feel like I've always been waiting for him,' she said now. She'd been drifting around, but now she turned to look at Ellie. 'I want to be close to him.'

'I know you do.'

'What should I do? I don't want to frighten him away.'

'I don't think you could do that, but go gently. He's had a difficult experience here so far, and his marriage is ending. Spend a little more time with him and you can get to know each other.'

Belle smiled. 'Thank you Ellie.' And Elinor felt the rush of warmth around her that let her know that Belle was happy.

0

After talking with Belle, Gold knew he couldn't leave here until he'd done whatever he could to help her. He'd made it so she no longer had to relive her death, but she couldn't move on either. She was stuck here, then, until she'd done whatever it was her spirit needed to do, so he would help her.

He wanted to spend time with her too. He found her absolutely enchanting. The fact that she was a ghost didn't make a difference. There was something about her that had captured him, and the thought of leaving her here seemed less and less appealing. This was the strangest, craziest thing ever, but he knew it would be even stranger and crazier to leave.

Staying meant he'd have to deal with Milah and Jones, but he didn't even feel worried about that any more. Things had changed so much since last night that his life with Milah seemed like another man's life now. He'd told Mrs Potts that he hadn't been happy, and though he'd loved Milah, he was beginning to realise that it wasn't an all-encompassing love. If it had been, he'd be a lot more devastated by her affair. He was shocked, and hurt, but not inconsolable. He could see a life without Milah, and he wouldn't have thought yesterday that he'd ever be able to do that. It seemed like he'd been woken up from the dream of his old life, and he'd never go back to that again, didn't want to go back to that ever again.

After he left the library, he went up to his room to pack his things. Milah was there, but not Jones.

'I came for my things,' he said, taking his bag from the cupboard.

'You're leaving now?'

'Actually, no,' he said: 'I'm staying for a bit.'

'Why?' she asked sharply.

'Because I feel like it,' he told her. 'I don't have to explain myself to you, Milah: you certainly never bothered explaining yourself to me. Don't worry: I won't get in your way. You and Jones can get on with your lives without any interference from me: I only ask the same courtesy from both of you. I'll be filing for divorce too: I expect you not to contest it.'

'Fine,' she said. 'The sooner the better.'

'I agree.' As they'd been talking, he'd been putting his things in the bag. Now he zipped it up and looked at her. He took off his wedding ring and put it on the bedside table. 'Well, I believe we're done here. Goodbye, Milah.'

As he walked out of the room, his heart felt considerably lighter. For so long, he'd been walking on eggshells around her, trying so hard to make her happy, but he'd been neglecting his own happiness. Well, not any more: he was going to do what made him happy now, and he smiled as he thought of helping Belle.

0

Elinor looked up when Mr Gold appeared with his bag.

'Ah…' She panicked and didn't know what to say.

'Mrs Potts, I'm sorry to be a bother, but would it be possible for me to pay for another room?' he asked.

She relaxed: he wasn't leaving, then.

She smiled. 'You can have a different room, of course, Mr Gold, but it won't be necessary for you to pay for it,' she told him. 'Avonlea Castle is happy to accommodate your needs at this difficult time.'

He smiled. 'You're very kind, Mrs Potts.'

'You could call me Elinor,' she invited.

'Elinor, then, and I'm Tristan.'

She smiled. 'Well, Tristan, why don't I show you to your room?'

Elinor knew one ghost who would be very happy about this development.

0

'Are you really encouraging this?'

Elinor turned as Faye floated through the wall. She'd just shown Tristan to his new room and she'd come back to her own rooms for tea and now Faye had come, undoubtedly to disapprove of the whole situation. Faye had always been narrow minded.

'I assume you're referring to Belle and Tristan?' she asked, sipping her tea.

'To what else would I be referring?' Faye demanded irritably.

'You can't stop this, Faye, so you might as well just let it happen.' Elinor knew there were forces at work that no one could stop, and she didn't plan on letting Faye even try. She was very, very fond of Belle and she knew that whatever was going on here would be good for her, and for Tristan.

'Let what happen?' Faye demanded. 'What is going to happen to the girl? You know, she believes she loves him!'

'I think she does,' Elinor defended. She'd sensed that already, and she thought Tristan loved her too. 'Tristan is a good man, Faye: Belle could do far worse.'

'Belle is a ghost and he is a mortal: she could _hardly_ do worse!'

'She may be a ghost and he may be mortal, but that didn't matter last night. Besides, tomorrow is Halloween.'

'She will only be corporeal from dusk until dawn, Elinor,' Faye reminded her: 'does she not realise that he will leave her as soon as he has his way with her?'

Ah, so Faye already knew what was likely to happen. Of course she would be against it, given her history with men.

'Don't let your experience with your husband affect your judgement in this, Faye,' Elinor advised. 'You and I both know that this happened for a reason. Belle and Tristan both deserve to be allowed to see this through to its conclusion.'

'Which will be what?' Faye demanded.

'I don't know, but I think it could surprise us all.'

'And if it all goes wrong, what then?'

'Then I'll deal with it, but I don't think that's going to happen.' Something told Elinor it would all work out in the end: she just had to trust in that.

'Well, for Belle's sake, I hope you are right, Elinor, I really do.' And Faye floated off again, leaving Elinor shaking her head at her. It would all work out: she knew it would. What was happening between Belle and Tristan was meant to be: simple as that.

 **To be continued**

Next time, do you believe in fate? Belle and Gold get to know each other better.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle and Gold get to know each other better and Milah and Jones have a proposition for Gold.

 **Chapter Five: Do You Believe in Fate?**

After settling in to his new room, Gold decided to take a walk, hoping the cool air would clear the last of his hangover. He walked in the castle grounds for a while, eventually coming across a pretty pavilion by the lake.

He leaned on the balustrade and looked out at the water for a while.

'Hello.'

He turned at the echoey voice and found Belle standing behind him, wearing a green and gold cloak over her blue dress. She reached up and pulled down her hood, smiling at him.

'Lady Belle,' he greeted, bowing.

Her smile widened as she curtseyed.

'I didn't think gentlemen bowed to ladies any more,' she said.

He shrugged. 'It seemed fitting, given the company and our surroundings.' He smiled. 'How are you?' He frowned then. 'Sorry, is that an insensitive question? Is it alright to ask a ghost how they are?'

She laughed. 'It's fine: don't worry. As for how I am, right now, I'm very happy. And how are you, Mr Gold?'

He thought for a moment. 'I'm happy too,' he said.

She smiled. 'I'm glad. I think you haven't always been happy,' she mused.

'Not for a long time,' he agreed, 'but I think I can be now.'

'I hope that you can,' she said earnestly. 'You deserve every imaginable happiness for what you did for me.'

'What I did… But you're still stuck here. Isn't there something I can do to help free your spirit so you can rest?'

'Perhaps. I would like to spend some time with you: would that be alright?' she asked.

'I'd like that.'

She smiled. 'Walk with me?'

They walked around the lake and she asked him to tell her about his life. She listened intently as he told her about himself, even about what had happened with Milah.

'And you came here to try to rekindle the love between you and your wife?' she asked sympathetically.

'Well, I thought so, but I'm not sure any more.'

'Oh?'

'I could have suggested anywhere for Milah and I to go,' he said: 'France, Italy Spain, anywhere, but I picked this out-of-the-way castle in the English countryside. I mean, it is a beautiful, romantic spot, but I think I picked it more because I've always been drawn to this place.'

'You have?' she asked, staring at him as he looked out over the lake.

'Yeah,' he said, looking at her. 'It's funny, this morning, I wanted to leave.'

'And now?'

He smiled. 'Now I can't imagine being anywhere else.'

She smiled and looked out at the lake. She knew he was still looking at her.

'Do you believe in fate, Mr Gold?'

'Tristan,' he said, 'and I'm finding that today I believe a lot of things I never have before. What do you believe in, Lady Belle?'

'Belle,' she said, smiling at him, 'and I believe in fate.' She began to walk on. 'I believe that fate can lead people to where they need to be. I believe that anything is possible, if you just believe.' She turned to him as he followed her. 'I believe there is such a thing as True Love.'

'That's a nice idea,' he said. 'What would True Love be to you?'

'You know, no one has ever asked me that question,' she said.

'No?'

She shook her head. 'I tell people I believe in True Love and they say "oh, that's nice, dear", as if I'm completely unhinged. Oh, perhaps I am, but I don't care. True Love, to me, is the most powerful magic there is. It's…it's layered: it's a mystery to be uncovered. True Love is knowing all the good and all the bad about someone, and loving them with your whole heart, whatever comes. Through good times and bad, True Love endures. It's not easy: it has to be fought for, but if you keep fighting, it is worth it.'

'Well,' he said, leaning against a tree and staring at her, 'I'd like to know how that feels.'

'So would I,' she sighed. 'It's the one thing I want more than anything else, to know what it is to be truly loved.'

He watched her as she moved among the trees. Was that her unfinished business: falling in love? Had no one ever held her and kissed her like she was the most precious thing on earth to him? Well, of course, things were different in her time: courtship was polite rather than passionate, and even marriage was a business transaction more than about love, or even affection. Had she had suitors, or even been engaged? Had she had any say in it? Would it be rude to ask?

'It's getting late,' she said softly. 'They'll be serving dinner soon and you must be hungry: you've barely eaten today.'

Ah, she'd noticed that, had she?

'I didn't think I could eat much earlier, after the night of drinking I had, but I think I could eat something now.'

'Good,' she said. 'I'll walk back with you.'

'And then?'

'Ellie doesn't like the ghosts to stay near the guests.'

'I'd like to see you again,' he said.

'I'll come to you later,' she said. 'I'll meet you in the library when everyone is gone.'

'I'd like that. You still have to pick a book for me to read to you.'

She smiled. 'You're very kind.'

He shook his head. 'I'm selfish: I want you to spend time with me.'

'It's not selfish if I want that too, Tristan,' she told him.

He smiled and they walked the last little bit back to the castle.

'I shall leave you here,' she said, just before they reached the door, 'but thank you for today: I've not had such a wonderful day in a very long time.'

'Neither have I,' he told her. 'I'll wait for you in the library.'

'I'll come to you,' she promised. 'Goodbye for now.' She curtseyed.

He smiled and bowed. 'Goodbye for now.'

She drifted off, fading into nothingness, and he felt bereft. It took him a moment to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Ah, yes: dinner.' He walked up the steps and into the castle.

'Ah, Tristan, you're back.'

He smiled at Elinor as she came to meet him. 'I went for a walk in the grounds. I'm sorry: you must want to serve dinner.'

'That's why I was looking for you,' she said. 'If you prefer, I can have yours sent up to your room.'

He smiled. 'Thank you, but I'd like to join you all in the dining room.'

'That's perfectly fine,' she said. 'It'll be about ten minutes.'

'Just enough time for me to change, then. Thank you Elinor.'

'You're very welcome.' She watched him rush up the stairs and smiled. There was definitely a change in him, and she was quite sure she knew who to attribute that change to.

0

Killian Jones frowned as Gold came into the dining room. He saw that Milah had noticed him too.

'I thought he was leaving,' he hissed.

'Said he changed his mind.'

'Why?'

'I don't know, do I?' she snapped. 'Who knows what goes on in his head half the time?'

'You don't think he knows why we're here, do you?' he asked.

'Well, if he does, I didn't tell him. He's gotten pretty cosy with that Mrs Potts: she probably told him everything.'

'Damn,' Jones growled: 'he'd better not make trouble for us.'

He kept his eye on Gold during the meal. He spent most of it chatting to the two lesbians, the newlyweds, and the Potts woman, ignoring him and Milah, though he had to know they were there. He was playing it pretty cool, Jones had to give him that.

'I think we should cut him in,' he said to Milah, as they were walking down to the library for after-dinner drinks.

'What? Are you mad?'

'No, I'm being smart,' he said. 'You know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If we cut him in, we have something over him to use against him if he tries to screw us over.'

'Well, I suppose,' she said reluctantly, 'but that map you found better be the real deal, Killian.'

'It is,' he assured her.

'Right, I'll talk to him.'

'We'll talk to him together,' he countered.

'Fine.'

0

'You seem in better spirits, darling,' Ella pointed out.

Gold leaned back in his chair and smiled. 'I am,' he agreed, 'I think this place is good for me after all.'

'Well, I have to say, I do _love_ having my gins presented to me on a silver tray,' Ella said, smiling.

Ursula laughed. 'Ella likes the high life.'

'And why not, darling? You're a long time dead.'

'Indeed,' Gold agreed, thinking of Belle.

Two hundred years: a long time to be stuck here, reliving your final moments. It just seemed so unfair. She was so young and vibrant: she deserved so much more. What he wouldn't give to give her everything she wanted.

His heart was thumping hard at the thought of her. Being with her this afternoon had filled him with such peace, such contentment. He'd never known anything like it before, and when she talked of True Love, he felt his soul reaching out to her. True Love, fate, the power of belief: she was making him see the world in a new way. She was so alive, and she'd brought him back to life.

She was so lovely, so very, very lovely. He would give anything to touch her, to show her the love she wanted to feel. Just to hold her in his arms for one night… Could he just have that? And maybe then her soul would be free. He hated the thought of her leaving him alone, but he hated the thought of her being stuck here even more.

It was Halloween tomorrow, the one night of the year that ghosts became corporeal and could do everything they'd done in life, or things they'd never gotten to do. The one thing Belle wanted most was to know what it was to be loved. He could do that for her…

But what on earth made him think she would want him? She'd want a young man, surely, young and handsome, not someone over twice her age, who was married already. He needn't think she had any interest in him just because she talked to him: she likely only did that to be polite, or because she had no one else to talk to. She was sweet and lovely, far out of his league. She wouldn't want him.

Still, he'd do anything he could to help her, anything she asked of him. She didn't have to care for him for him to care for her love wasn't always reciprocated. As long as he remembered that and kept his feelings to himself, it would be alright.

So he told himself anyway.

0

The newlyweds were gone to bed ages ago and the lesbian couple had just left. That left Jones, Milah, and Gold. Jones took his cue to talk to Gold while there was no one else around.

He was sitting by the fire, staring ahead, apparently miles away, but he turned his head as Jones and Milah approached, so he was obviously aware of their presence.

'What do you want, Milah?' he asked, ignoring Jones.

'We want to talk to you about something,' she said.

'If it's about a divorce settlement, I already told you—'

'It's not,' she cut in. 'Killian, this was your idea: tell him.'

He nodded. 'Right: got a proposition for you, mate.'

Gold studied him for a moment, expression impassive. 'And what would that be, _mate_?'

'I told you that an ancestor of mine looted this place, right?'

'You did. He murdered the fourth earl's daughter and one of his crew while he was at it, mind,' Gold said, voice hard.

'Yeah, well, he was a bloodthirsty pirate: that was how it was back then,' Jones defended.

'What is it you want, Mr Jones?' Gold asked impatiently.

'Hook came here searching for treasure. Now, he never found it, but I know it's here. That's why I came, to find it.'

Gold was smiling. 'And what has some fool's errand got to do with me?'

'Killian figured we should split it with you,' Milah said.

Gold barked a laugh. 'Really? And why on earth would you want to do that?'

'Because I figured you already knew about it and that's why you're hanging around,' Jones said. 'I figured old Mrs Potts told you.'

'Or else you knew already,' Milah said, 'since you knew about this place before.'

Gold shook his head. 'What I know is that there is no treasure. Wouldn't it have been found by now if there were?'

'Not without the map to where it's hidden,' Jones countered, 'which I have in my possession. I'm willing to give you a third, Gold, provided you don't make things difficult for us.'

'I already told Milah I wouldn't interfere with you and I'm a man of my word. You go ahead and chase after your treasure if you must: I'll keep out of it, but don't say I didn't warn you when you don't find it.'

'Oh, we'll find it,' Jones declared. 'Just don't expect us to share it when we do.'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Gold returned, amused. 'Have fun on your wild goose chase.'

Milah glared at him. 'Let's get out of here, Killian.'

'Your loss, mate,' Jones said, and he and Milah walked out of the library, leaving Gold alone.

Gold rolled his eyes. Treasure, indeed! But then he saw Belle staring after Jones and Milah, looking horrified.

'Belle?' he asked gently, going to her at once.

'That man looks just like Hook,' she said, her eyes wide, clearly frightened.

He so wished he could take her into his arms and hold her. He settled for reaching his hand up to her cheek instead, before he remembered he couldn't touch her. Even then, he let his hand hover by her cheek.

'It's alright,' he soothed: 'Hook will never hurt you again, and neither will Jones. I promise, Belle.' Of course Jones wouldn't be able to hurt her, since she was a ghost, but it seemed like the right thing to say, judging by the look on her face.

She looked up at him. She felt so safe with him, so protected, and she wanted to lean into his touch. She felt warm where his hand hovered. That shouldn't be possible: it had never happened before, not even with Ellie.

'I can almost feel your hand against my cheek,' she breathed.

'You can?' he asked.

She nodded. 'It makes me feel warm.' And she raised her hand to hover beside his cheek, smiling when he seemed to lean closer to it. 'You can feel that?'

He nodded, holding his breath.

Belle couldn't stop herself from touching ghostly fingertips to his lips.

He gasped and stumbled backwards, touching his own fingertips to where he'd felt the ghost of hers.

'I-I'm sorry,' she breathed, backing away.

'No!' he cried, reaching out. 'I'm sorry: that just came as a surprise. You're so warm.'

'Oh,' she said, relieved. 'Yes, that's… My spirit gives off energy, usually warm when I'm happy and cold when I'm upset. Ellie's the only living person I know who's been able to feel it before now.'

'I see,' he said.

'She likes you,' she told him.

He smiled. 'She's a nice lady: I like her too.'

'She knows things, you know.'

'I figured that out,' he said, watching her as she moved around.

'You couldn't feel me earlier,' she pointed out.

'I suppose I was still wary then: I'm not now.'

She smiled. 'I like spending time with you,' she said softly.

'I do too with you.'

'I'm glad,' she murmured, looking over at him. She was thinking of how he was the first person in two centuries whose warmth she could feel. How wonderful that was: how very exciting.

There was an ardent, yearning look on her face that made him move closer to her.

'What is it?' he asked.

'It's just that I haven't felt the warmth of a touch in two hundred years.'

'But I thought Elinor…?'

'She feels my energy and we can talk together, but I never felt her warmth like I felt yours. You're the only one who…'

'Can touch you, in a way at least,' he finished.

She smiled a little sadly.

'What's wrong?'

She shook her head. 'I'm not sure I should say.'

'You can tell me anything,' he said: 'please tell me.'

'I think you'll find it shocking,' she said, moving away.

He followed. 'Friends should be able to tell each other anything,' he countered.

She looked down. 'Perhaps that's why I shouldn't tell you, because you have been a great friend to me. I wouldn't wish to ruin that.'

'I don't understand,' he said, staring at her. 'I am your friend, Belle: you can talk to me.'

The rush of cold air made him shiver.

'That's just it,' she said, 'it isn't enough.' And he watched in horror as she began to fade away.

'Belle?' he called. 'Belle, don't go! _Belle_!' But she was gone.

 **To be continued**

Next time, Gold has some help getting in touch with Belle.


	6. Chapter 6

Someone is keeping an eye on Jones and Milah, and Gold has some help getting in touch with Belle.

 **Chapter Six: The Cabin Boy**

What on earth had just happened, he wondered, still shivering from her cold energy. He'd done or said something to make her unhappy. He tried to think back. She said she could feel his warmth and then something happened. She'd said she liked spending time with him, but then she went away. What had he done? How had he upset her?

What had she said? _It wasn't enough…_ What wasn't?

'Oh, Belle, please don't leave me,' he called. 'Please come back and tell me what I've done wrong.' But she did not come.

Well, if she wouldn't come to him, he would find her. And he left the library determined to find her.

0

Bailey had been watching Hook's descendant pore over the treasure map with Gold's wife. How surprised he'd been when Jones showed up with the map, and then Gold had saved the lady, something Bailey had been trying to do for two hundred years, despite knowing it was hopeless. Well, perhaps it wasn't after all, though Bailey realised now that saving the lady wasn't his task to accomplish. No, his task was to take care of Hook once and for all, while Gold saved the lady. That was how it was always meant to be: Bailey knew that now.

Jones looked and acted exactly like the pirate, as if he were Hook reincarnated. He was certainly as bloodthirsty, and as villainous. Bailey knew how he'd got his hands on that map: he'd boasted about it to her, Gold's wife, and she had only smiled conspiratorially. Their avarice and ruthlessness made Bailey sick. Jones was nothing more than a murderer and she was his willing accomplice.

They believed that map was real, but Bailey knew this castle and the land around it inside out. There was no treasure: there never had been. The map led to a spot by the lake, but there was nothing buried there, or not treasure anyway. Jones and his accomplice would figure that out tomorrow night, when they went digging by the light of the full moon. How lucky for Bailey that there would be a full moon, and that these two would be here the one night of the year when he would be corporeal again.

He almost smiled as Jones talked about what he would do with the treasure when he found it, but then he was distracted by the lady's spirit as it hurtled through the castle, tumultuous emotions giving off blasts of energy. He followed her in the Ghosts' Walk.

'Milady,' he greeted quietly.

She turned swiftly. 'Oh, Bailey, hello,' she greeted.

'You're unhappy.'

'Oh, no,' she said hastily.

He sent her a knowing look and she gave a watery smile.

'I've been a little foolish, that's all,' she said.

'Why?'

'I hoped that he could care for me as I care for him.'

'And he doesn't?'

She shook her head.

'How do you know?'

'He sees me only as a friend.'

He looked sympathetic. 'I'm sorry. You're certain?'

'He told me.'

'I see.'

'It doesn't matter,' she said, shaking her head. 'I don't know what I was hoping for. He saved me and I thought… But it doesn't matter now.'

But it did. Bailey knew that Hook's descendant and Gold being here at precisely the same time was no accident. Both he and Lady Belle had a chance to be free. He was certainly going to take his, and he was going to make sure that Gold helped her have hers.

He left the lady and went in search of Gold.

0

He couldn't find her. He'd looked everywhere he could think of and called for her, but if she wanted to hide herself from him, it would be easy for her to do.

'Oh, Belle,' he murmured, bereft.

This felt worse than finding Milah with Jones. This ache at Belle's departure wouldn't be numbed with alcohol. He'd spent hours roaming the castle and grounds, and it was nearly morning. He was exhausted. He lay down on the bed in his room and fell into a fitful sleep.

He woke before dawn and was immediately aware that he wasn't alone.

'Who's there?' he called, sitting up. 'Belle?'

'She's not here,' a male voice called, and Gold saw a boy of about fourteen, dressed in old-fashioned clothes before him. He recognised him from the other night.

'You're the boy who tried to help her,' he said: 'Bailey, isn't it?'

The boy nodded. 'I've tried to save her for centuries, always knowing it was impossible, but not for you.'

'But I didn't save you. I'm sorry: I—'

'It doesn't matter,' the boy interrupted. 'I've found a way to save myself, so I'm glad you're here to save her.'

'I didn't save her, though: she's still trapped. I don't know how to save her completely. I don't even know if I can.'

'I think if you go and talk to her, you'll figure it out.'

'I've been trying to talk to her. She won't come to me. I said something wrong: I don't know what.'

'She thinks you want to be her friend.'

'I don't understand: what's wrong with that?'

'You should talk to her.'

'I would if I could find her.'

'She's in the West wing, a part of it that no mortals go. I'll take you there.'

'Thank you,' Gold said, immediately standing up.

0

It was freezing. Gold wished he'd taken his coat.

'There's a cloister where we walk,' Bailey explained: 'that's where the lady is. We call it the Ghosts' Walk: it's just through here.'

Gold followed. 'Are there other ghosts here?'

'They won't trouble you. They stay away from mortals.'

Bailey led him into the cloister. It was an L-shaped walkway looking onto a small courtyard. They were in an older part of the castle, perhaps the earliest part built. The stone here was more weathered and parts of it were moss-covered, but it was beautiful and quiet: he could see why the ghosts would like it.

'Belle?' he called.

He heard a soft gasp and he saw her, emerging from shadow.

'Tristan, what are you doing here?' she asked, eyes widening. 'Mortals never—'

'I brought him,' Bailey interjected: 'he was looking for you.'

Belle gazed up at him and Gold smiled, feeling warmer with her presence.

'You'll freeze to death here, Tristan,' she said, concerned.

'It doesn't matter, Belle,' he told her: 'we need to talk.'

Neither of them noticed Bailey disappear. He had a pair of treasure hunters to keep an eye on.

 **To be continued**

Next time, Belle and Gold come to understand each other.


	7. Chapter 7

Belle and Gold finally find themselves on the same page.

 **Chapter Seven: Understanding**

'I said or did something that upset you,' Gold said: 'tell me what it was so I can make it up to you.'

Belle smiled sadly and drifted away. 'There's no need,' she said. 'It's my own fault for…'

'For what, Belle?' But she didn't speak. 'I hate knowing I've made you unhappy. Please tell me what you're upset about.'

'Oh, you haven't made me unhappy, Tristan, truly. You've been a good friend to me.' But there was something in her eyes, something so yearning and sad, and he remembered her words again: _it isn't enough_ … Oh!

'Belle, are you upset that I called myself your friend?' he asked urgently.

'Are you not my friend?' she asked quietly, not looking at him, not daring to.

'I'd prefer to be more than your friend,' he replied simply, yet meaningfully.

She turned, looking at him. 'What?' she asked softly, hopefully. And the pale morning light shone on her, illuminating her, and he'd never seen anything so lovely, so ethereal, so perfect.

'Oh, Belle, you are achingly beautiful,' he breathed. 'I've been longing to touch you for real, to kiss you and hold you. I want more than your friendship, Belle: I just didn't dare hope that you wanted more from me. I'm so much older than you: I'm married: I—'

'In my time, women married older men all the time,' she interrupted. 'Besides, I've been a ghost for two hundred years: I think I have seniority over you.' She smiled at him. 'And your marriage is over, is it not?'

'Yes, it is, but even so, we aren't in your time, Belle, we're in mine, and young women today don't want older men. You're still a young woman: you stopped ageing when you died.' Why was he arguing the point when it sounded like she wanted exactly what he wanted? What was he thinking?

'None of those things matter, Tristan,' she said softly, 'I want you.' It was reckless to admit, not to mention unladylike, but Belle was accustomed to telling the truth, and it was a habit she couldn't give up, even in death.

He stared at her. 'Oh, Belle…'

'I told you you would find it shocking,' she said, laughing nervously. 'My father would be horrified, but I can't deny it. I care for you. I want to be with you.'

'I want to be with you too,' he said urgently, moving towards her quickly, as if to reach for her. 'Today is Halloween,' he said.

'Yes,' she agreed, looking up at him steadily.

'Isn't this the one day of the year when ghosts become corporeal again?'

'You know about that?' she asked, and he saw a blush on her ghostly cheek.

'I read it in the seventh earl's notes,' he said quietly. 'When does it happen?'

'Not until dusk, and only until dawn,' she replied.

'Spend it with me?' he asked, urgent again.

He watched as she bit her lip. She didn't speak.

'I know,' he said, insecure again. 'I know: I'm over twice your age, old enough to be your father. Most young women nowadays consider that a turn off, and—'

'A turn off?' she asked, confused.

'An unattractive quality,' he clarified. 'And I know that a gentleman in your time wouldn't speak to a lady this way—'

'We aren't in my time,' she cut in, 'and I've told you I want you. Don't take my silence for dissent, Tristan: I want to spend tonight with you very much.'

He smiled. 'Right. Good.'

She laughed softly and so did he.

'Oh, Belle,' he breathed. He raised his hand to her cheek again and she leaned closer, closing her eyes.

'If this feels this lovely now, I can only imagine how it will feel when it's real,' she commented.

'You said the one thing you really wanted was to be loved, Belle.'

She opened her eyes, staring into his. 'Yes.'

'If I can give you that tonight, you could move on, couldn't you? I mean, I'd miss you, but you'd have peace.'

She nodded, smiling. 'And I'd wait for you, on the other side.'

He nodded and smiled. 'I wish I could give you more.'

She shook her head. 'You've given me so much already.'

'No more than you've given me. You saved me too.'

'How?' she asked.

'I wasn't alive, not really, not until I met you. I can never thank you enough for bringing me back to life.'

She smiled. 'It's lucky that we found each other, then.'

He smiled. 'I don't think luck had anything to do with it.'

'What, then?'

'Fate, Belle.'

She smiled again, touching ghostly fingertips to his cheek.

'You're cold: we shouldn't stay here any longer. Come and get warm at once.'

He laughed at her ordering him about. 'Yes, milady.'

She shot a look over her shoulder at him. 'Have you eaten? Slept?'

'Eaten, no: slept, a little. I was busy searching the castle for you.'

She looked penitent. 'I'm sorry I ran away. Sometimes I'm not as brave as I like to pretend I am.'

'I think you're plenty brave, and it's alright: we're on the same page now.'

She frowned adorably. 'I'm sorry, what does that mean?'

'We understand each other,' he amended.

'Oh,' she said, smiling: 'yes.'

0

'Coming in?' he asked, when they arrived at his room.

She smiled. 'Are you inviting me?'

He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. She did, turning to smile at him as he followed her.

'My father would have a fit if he knew I was alone in a gentleman's room,' she commented.

'Courtship was quite different in your time, wasn't it?' he asked.

'Oh, yes,' she agreed. 'It was all balls, and picnics, and chaperons, and parents arranged most of the marriages for advantage rather than love, at least among the nobility.'

'Is that what happened to you?'

She nodded. 'My father arranged my marriage. My betrothed's name was Gregory Gaston. He was the eldest son of a duke. He wanted me for his duchess, but I didn't want to be his wife. I didn't like him, but I would have done as my father bade me in the end, even though it wasn't what I wanted.'

'You wanted to travel.'

'Yes. I also wanted to marry for love.'

'There's so much you never got to do: I'm sorry.'

She shook her head. 'It's no matter,' she said bravely: 'I shall have a little taste. At least I'll know something of what it means to really choose for myself, to really live, and to know what it is to be loved, thanks to you.' She smiled warmly at him. 'Tell me something, though?' she asked.

'Anything.'

'Tell me a little about the world as it is now. I know about the wars because the castle was a hospital then, and Ellie tells me about important things that happen, but I'd like to hear about it from you.'

He smiled at her interest. 'I think you'd fit in well,' he commented.

'Oh? Why?'

'Because women can make their own choices a lot more now. You could see the world, like you wanted, do any kind of work you like. You could get married or not, as you please. You could live with someone and not be married to them. A lot of women do that now.'

'That would have been scandalous in my time.'

'People are more liberal about those things now. The modern world is much fairer to women.'

'I like the sound of that,' she said.

'I think you'd enjoy travelling now too. It's a lot faster.'

'I know there are aeroplanes: Ellie told me about them. They sound like magic. You don't like to fly?' she asked, seeing his look.

'Not very fond of heights,' he told her, 'but I'll fly when I have to. I like trains, and driving. Trains are fun. You can watch the scenery and not have to worry about keeping your eyes on the road.'

'It does sound wonderful,' she agreed. 'Where do you like to go?'

'Well, I've been several places,' he told her. 'I like cities: very, very big towns,' he explained, seeing her frown.

'Oh, like London? I've been there a few times.'

'Yes, a bit like London, though London is much bigger now than it was in your time.'

'I see. What other cities do you like?'

'I like Paris, and there's a magical city in America called New York. I'd take you to see it.' He didn't add 'if I could' because it was understood.

She smiled. 'I think I would like that. Where else would you take me?'

'Anywhere: everywhere.'

She smiled at him and the light from the window shone on her, making her almost glow.

'Beautiful Belle,' he breathed, staring at her.

Belle bit her lip. His voice was like a caress that she knew would set her heart fluttering were it beating. A shiver of anticipation wemt through her. Tonight, she would know how it felt to be with him, to be loved by him, but now she could see that he needed to rest.

'You should sleep a little,' she suggested.

'I'd rather talk to you,' he said.

She moved towards him. 'But if you don't sleep now, you'll be too tired tonight.'

He smiled, unable to tell whether she meant that innocently, out of concern for him, or whether she meant she'd rather him not be falling asleep when they were making love. She was so thoughtful about his welfare, though, that she probably didn't think how her words could be construed.

'Alright, I'll take a nap,' he promised, dragging off his shoes and climbing into the bed.

Belle stood by, smiling at him. 'Sweet dreams, my darling,' she whispered.

He smiled at her and soon fell into a deep sleep.

0

He woke to the feeling of softness against his cheek. He smiled, figuring out it was fingertips, and then opened his eyes.

Blinking rapidly, he looked up into a glowing, beautiful face. It smiled radiantly.

'Did you sleep well, darling?' Belle asked. Her voice no longer echoed.

 **To be continued**

Next time, the lovers spend the night together.


	8. Chapter 8

Our lovers spend the night together.

 **Chapter Eight: The Lovers**

'Belle?' he whispered, sitting up. He realised by the light that it was much later in the day: he'd slept for most of it.

She nodded. She was dressed in a pale yellow dress. She'd changed her hair too: it was pinned back off her face, with the tresses curling down her back. How fresh and lovely she looked.

'I asked Ellie to send us up some food,' she explained, her skirts rustling as she moved. They hadn't done that before. 'I hope you're hungry,' she went on: 'I know I am.'

She was nervous. She talked too much when she was nervous. He might send her away: he might change his mind and not want her after all. She busied herself arranging the things on the table.

When he saw her able to touch and move things, he knew for sure it had happened.

'Belle,' he breathed.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him as he came towards her. She held herself still as he reached out to touch her cheek.

Gold gasped when his fingers touched warm, soft skin. She leaned in to his hand and put her hand over his.

She smiled. 'That feels wonderful.'

He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer. 'Oh, Belle.'

Belle sighed, leaning in to the weight of him. 'Tristan.'

They held each other for a long moment. Gold was just revelling in having someone actually want him to hold them. Milah was always so resistant, while Belle just sank into his arms. And Belle was marvelling at how wonderful it felt to touch someone, and delighting in how warm and strong he felt, yet how gentle his touch was.

Gold smiled down at her, drowning in her eyes. They were even bluer than they'd seemed before. Everything about her was so much more vibrant, more beautiful, now that she was corporeal.

Belle bit her lip, the intensity of his look making her flush. She gasped when he moved his thumb over her lip, gently pulling it from between her teeth.

'You don't know how appealing you look when you do that,' he told her quietly.

She stared at him with wide eyes, unconsciously biting her lip again. Then she held her breath as his eyes flashed. She watched as he leaned closer and then hesitated. She knew he wanted to kiss her and she leaned closer, her heart fluttering in excitement.

Gold could hardly believe what was happening to him, that this woman, so young and lovely, wanted him to kiss her, but he hesitated no longer, touching his lips gently to hers.

Belle let out a hum of pleasure, bringing her hands up to his shoulders and then raising one to his cheek. He felt her tremble, though, and pulled back.

'Are you alright, sweetheart?' he asked.

'Oh, yes,' she returned at once, eyes sparkling, 'only happy.'

'You're trembling,' he pointed out.

She blushed. 'I'm excited,' she confessed, 'and rather nervous. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do, you see, but I do like it so far.'

He smiled. 'Good: me too. I'm nervous too, if I'm honest.'

'You are?' He nodded. 'But why?'

'Because you are so special, and this is your first time: I want it to be perfect for you, Belle.'

She smiled tenderly. 'You're so sweet to me,' she whispered.

'Well, you deserve it,' he told her, and kissed her gently again.

She smiled dreamily at him.

'The food smells delicious,' he said, turning his head to look at the spread she'd arranged. He would happily have kept kissing her, but he realised she'd gone to some effort for him, and he wanted her to know he appreciated it. He realised she liked taking care of him, and, goodness knew, it had been forever since he'd felt cared for by Milah: he knew she'd never _really_ cared. It would be so pleasant to let Belle care for him.

'I hope you like it,' she said, smiling up at him. 'I asked Ellie and she arranged everything. Come and sit,' she invited, slipping out of his arms and taking his hand.

He followed and happily did as she bade.

Belle served them each a bowl of steaming vegetable broth and then sat opposite him, smiling brightly.

They ate companionably, enjoying the delicious meal. Food was another thing Belle had missed and she enjoyed the meal very much. Most of all, though, she enjoyed being with Tristan. The way he looked at her and talked to her filled her with such pleasure, and she liked that he let her take care of him. She had sensed that no one had done that for a long time and it made her happy to be able to.

'What do you usually do on Halloween?' he asked her, as they were eating dessert.

She giggled. 'I read.'

He smiled. 'I might have guessed.'

She smiled. 'Very predictable, I know. It's the only time I can. Ellie sometimes reads to me, but she's very busy and I don't like to ask her much. As soon as I can after the sun sets, I take myself to a quiet place where I know I won't be disturbed and read until the book falls through my fingers.'

He smiled sympathetically, but he was happy that he could make tonight different. Suddenly he had a thought.

Belle watched wonderingly as he went to the gramophone in the corner of the room and set it playing. A lovely piano tune began to play as he came back to her and held out his hand.

'May I have this dance, Lady Belle?' he asked.

Belle gave him her hand eagerly. 'I would be delighted, sir,' she said, rising.

As they began to dance, Belle felt her heart soar. Oh, it was heavenly to dance with him, and in his arms like this. The waltz had been new in her time, and not thought entirely proper, but she loved being in his arms, and he was a wonderful dancer.

'You dance beautifully, sir,' she murmured.

'As do you,' he said, spinning her around and taking her into his arms again.

She sighed. 'I'm so happy.'

'Me too.' It was such a delight to have her here with him, in the flesh. He'd never felt so at peace. It was hard to believe this night would end and she would be gone, so he chose not to believe it. He chose instead to lose himself, to imagine the minutes as years, so that he could know her better and love her more than anyone he'd ever known.

As they danced, the intimacy and anticipation between them heightened. They could hardly take their eyes off each other, and when he brought them to a stop, holding her close, he kissed her again.

He licked her lips and she parted them instinctively, and then, oh, how wonderful to be kissed so sensuously, so passionately! She moaned and felt him smile. She clung to him, fire coursing through her, making her body come alive in a way it never even had when she was alive.

'Oh, God,' she breathed, her eyes drifting closed as she felt him kiss delicately along her jaw and down her neck. She brought her hand up to rest on the back of his head, her fingers sliding into his soft hair. Oh, this was…

She had said she wanted him, but it had been an intangible feeling, simply an awareness of needing to be close to him, but now she could feel it in her body: she could feel the desire coursing through her. Never had she felt something so sublime.

'Oh, Tristan,' she breathed, 'I never want to stop. Kiss me again?' she begged.

He did, pulling her against him, wondering if she could tell how he wanted her.

'I never knew kissing could make me feel so…' She couldn't find the right word.

'Aroused?' he asked, nuzzling her ear.

'Yes,' she agreed. That was it exactly: aroused. Her whole body felt alert.

He smiled into her hair. 'Does it feel good?'

'It makes me feel…impatient,' she said. 'I want you close: I want to feel your skin next to mine.' She looked up at him, feeling brave, feeling powerful. He wouldn't mind her saying this, she knew. They were no longer in her time, when for a woman to say what she wanted would cause a scandal. She could say this and he would understand. He was even smiling at her now.

'I'd like that too,' he murmured. 'Would you like help with the buttons on your dress?' he asked.

She bit her lip and turned quickly, gathering her hair over one shoulder. Her breast rose and fell rapidly. She was so excited.

It was too tempting for him not to kiss her bare neck as he unhooked the buttons at the back of her dress.

Belle sighed contentedly, tilting her head to give him easier access. She could feel every movement of his fingers as he slipped the buttons free of their loops, and then she felt her dress slip off her shoulder, and she turned her head to watch him kiss her there.

Gold smiled and kissed her lips. She turned in his arms, slipping one arm out of her dress and then the other before she wrapped them around his neck. He pushed the dress down and she wriggled free of it, leaving her standing in her corset, chemise, and undergarments.

'How do you get out of this contraption?' he asked her.

With his hands on her waist, she understood what he was referring to: her corset. 'If you loosen the laces at the back for me, I can unclasp it from the front,' she told him, and turned, gathering her hair over her shoulder again.

He did as she asked, carefully undoing the knot at her waist and loosening the laces.

Belle unclasped the corset and took it off, letting her chemise hang loose. She turned to him again, and, with him watching, stepped out of her slippers and pulled up her chemise so that she could remove her stockings and pantaloons. And now she stood in only her chemise.

Gold watched in rapt attention, marvelling at her lack of fear or reserve. Oh, she was perfection! She was a vision in her white chemise, with her hair gathered over her shoulder. Angel or a goddess: he couldn't decide which.

It was her turn to watch him, now, as he began to undress. He removed shirt, undershirt, shoes, socks and jeans under her gaze, and he could feel her desire for him, and it made him confident.

He went to her, gathered her into his arms and kissed her deeply, his hand cradling the back of her neck as she wrapped her arms around his waist, running her hands up and down his back. It was such a delight to touch his skin and her state of excitement and arousal went up even more. She ached for him now.

Gold held her to him, as close as he could get her. The feeling of her body under her chemise, supple and pliant and warm, was driving him to distraction, and he couldn't keep his hands off her.

The feeling of his hands roaming her body had Belle breathless and yearning. She clung to him, losing herself in his kisses and touches. She wanted so much to just melt into him, and when she pressed closer, with the idea of doing just that, she felt his hard length pressing into her.

Her eyes snapped up to his, wide and curious. Gold nearly moaned at her look. Her curiosity and lack of fear would be his undoing. He wanted her so badly by now and he couldn't stop himself as he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Belle gasped, but wasn't afraid as he lay her gently down, leaning over her. She accepted his soft kiss, humming as his hand slid over her breast and down her belly. She wanted to take off her chemise, but the thought went out the window when he moved his head and put his mouth around her breast, sucking on it through her chemise.

She moaned, and Gold, encouraged, moved his mouth down to her belly, sucking at her skin and leaving wet patches on her chemise.

'Tristan,' she sighed out. She felt her body throbbing. It was centred between her legs, where she ached for him, and she was moist down there. She needed something to ease the ache and she rubbed her thighs together instinctively, moaning.

Gold saw her movement and leaned over her, looking into her eyes. Her pupils were blown and she stared up at him with undisguised longing.

'I've never felt this way about anyone before,' he told her.

'Neither have I,' she responded. 'I…I love you.'

His eyes watered and he smiled. 'I love you too,' he rasped out, emotion brimming over. 'I want to show you just how much: may I?'

'Yes: please.' Excitement and delight made her quiver and pant. Oh, God, she could hardly wait.

He began to slide her chemise up her body. She raised her torso to help.

'I'll be as gentle as I can,' he said, 'but it might hurt at first.'

'I trust you,' she whispered, and he pulled her chemise over her head and tossed it away.

He took in the length of her body, pale and beautiful and glowing, and Belle flushed under his gaze.

Her heart beat in wild excitement when he removed his underwear and she glimpsed his length standing against his belly. Even though he said it might hurt, she felt no fear.

Gold smiled as her eyes flicked down and then back to his face, and she flushed.

'You're sure this is what you want?' he asked.

She nodded. 'Yes: yes,' she said urgently. She held her arms out for him and he climbed above her, covering her with his body.

He kissed her. 'I'm going to touch you, Belle, to see if you're ready, alright?'

She nodded and he smiled at her. She felt his hand sweep down her side and move between her legs. She gasped and threw her head back when he touched her just where she ached for him. Her eyes widened when his fingers caressed her. It made her shiver in delicious anticipation.

Gold stared at her in awe. 'You're already wet,' he breathed.

'Is that alright?' she asked, unsure.

He brushed a kiss to her temple. 'Oh, yes,' he murmured: 'every man should be happy to know a woman wants him.'

'I do,' she breathed: 'oh, Tristan, I do.'

'Belle,' he moaned, kissing her deeply.

She whimpered when he took his hand away from her, but she had little time to think about it before she felt him shift a little and then settle, and now she could feel him at her entrance, pushing into her slowly. She tried to relax and go with it, but it was a strange sensation, and she couldn't keep from tensing a little.

She tensed further, gasping, as she felt a twinge of pain, and he paused, kissing her face sweetly, letting her adjust to the feeling of having him inside her.

The pain subsided and she began to relax, began to get used to the feeling of being connected so intimately with this man that she loved. She smiled up at him.

'Alright, sweetheart?' he asked her gently.

'Yes,' she murmured: 'yes, it feels nice now.'

He smiled. 'Good.' And he began to move again, pushing forward further, and she let out a wordless gasp at how right it felt.

He kissed her cheek. 'Try bending your knees, darling,' he whispered.

She did as he suggested and felt him slip further in. 'Oh, my…'

He hummed against her throat. 'Feel good.'

'Yes,' she gasped. It felt indescribably good. He was nestled so deep inside her and… Oh, it felt like heaven! They were pressed hip to hip and it was the most sublime feeling, the most intimate connection.

'I adore you,' she whispered, stroking his hair back off his face. 'I've been waiting for you all my life.'

Gold was speechless. He was lost in her eyes, so gentle and trusting. No one had ever spoken to him like this, looked at him like this before.

'Oh, angel,' he breathed, 'oh, my sweet, beautiful Belle.'

She caught her breath as he began to withdraw from her. She clutched at him, wanting to hold him there, but in a moment, he slid back in, gasping. He repeated the motion a few times, and she could feel the delicious sensations of his thrusts, and the urge to move with him overtook her.

Panting, she met his eyes and asked him: 'Is-is it alright that I move?'

He smiled and kissed her. 'Oh, yes,' he breathed against her lips.

She rolled her hips into his thrust and they both gasped.

'That's it,' he praised: 'feels so good, sweetheart.'

She nodded, staring at him. They moved together now, watching each other. Belle had never known how intimate and expressive this could really be. When it was spoken of in hushed tones, it was spoken of as something to be endured, but this…this was beautiful.

Gold kept the pace slow. He wanted her to feel cherished and he wanted to remember this for the rest of his life. She was the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life, and being here with her, making love like this…it was like heaven.

A tension built inside Belle, pleasurable and uncomfortable at the same time. She bit her lip, squirming a little. She felt like she needed to release this tension somehow.

Gold could see it: she needed release. Leaning close, he kissed the spot below her ear.

'Tell me what you feel, angel,' he requested.

She shuddered at his voice and his endearment. 'I feel…like I'm…I'm about to…come apart…in a…in a good way. Oh, Tristan!' she cried, as he began to move harder and faster.

He delighted in the feeling of her clinging to him, in the feeling of knowing she felt like this because of him. It had never been anything like this with Milah. This was the most incredible experience of his life.

Belle was shaking, her whole body suffused with heat, and it felt so amazing.

They were moving fast, panting, watching each other. For the first time, she felt what it meant to be truly alive. And then she was falling, now floating in bliss, and calling to him, crying out inarticulately. And he was there, floating with her, holding her and kissing her, and finally, her body was humming in pleasure, satisfied in the most wonderful way.

Tears filled her eyes and he cupped her cheek, looking worriedly at her.

'I've never felt so alive,' she told him, her voice full of emotion.

He smiled, relieved, and kissed her forehead. 'Neither have I.'

'Is it always like this?' she asked, voice breathy.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. 'No.'

'It's not?'

'Not always,' he told her: 'it's only like this when it's special.'

She smiled. 'Well, this was wonderful: thank you.'

He kissed her. 'This is only the beginning,' he whispered.

She was about to speak when she felt his hand stroke between her legs and gasped instead, surprised to feel aroused again.

'But we just made love,' she said, eyes wide as she stared up at him.

He nodded, understanding her surprise. 'But a woman's body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in quick succession. Let me show you?'

'Y-yes,' she breathed, nodding. She gasped, then, as he kissed his way down her body, but when he put his mouth on her and she felt her body respond eagerly, it was a revelation. She'd never known there was such pleasure to be had.

Gold delighted in making her come a second time, and he smiled as he crawled back up her body and found her breathless, her eyes glazed over.

She stared at him. 'My bones feel like water,' she said weakly.

He kissed her forehead, looking pleased with himself.

'That…that was…'

'Did you like it?' he asked, gathering her into his arms.

'Mm,' she murmured, cuddling close to him. 'I think you know that I did,' she told him.

'Good,' he returned, kissing her hairline.

She smiled. 'Thank you: it was wonderful. You're wonderful.'

He smiled. 'Do you feel alright?'

'I feel very happy,' she murmured.

'I'm glad. Me too.' He scooted down a little and kissed her. Then he wrapped his arms around her and they lay for a while, talking, enjoying each other's presence, each other's touch.

0

They never slept. They only had one night, so they were each determined to make the most of it. And they did. Belle knew, now, what love really felt like. Being in his arms was the most wonderful feeling she'd ever known and she was so happy, so grateful. She loved him so much.

Gold tried to tell her with every touch, every kiss, how much he loved her. It was the strangest, most beautiful experience of his life, and he would never forget this beautiful, gentle woman who'd brought him back to life. He tried to bring her as much pleasure as he could, to repay her for all she'd done for him.

But finally it was nearly dawn, and she was lying in his arms as he held her close to him, and neither of them wanted to say goodbye.

'What are you thinking of?' she asked him.

'The story of our life together, if we could have it,' he said.

'Tell me?' she asked, looking up at him.

'We'd travel the world together,' he began. 'I'd take you all the places you want to see. When we were ready to settle down, we'd buy a big house, raise a family, grow old together. We'd be happy, so happy. If I make it real in my head, I can make myself believe it, and then I don't have to let you go. I don't want to let you go, Belle.'

'I don't want to let you go either,' she told him quietly, 'but I believe in your story of our life together, and I believe I will see you again. This is not the end.'

'No?'

She kissed him. 'No. Promise me something?'

'Anything.'

'Live a good life. Don't pine for me.'

'I'll try.' He stroked her cheek. 'I love you, Belle.'

She smiled radiantly. 'I love you too,' she whispered, and kissed him.

When they parted, he knew it was almost over.

'It's almost time,' she said: 'I can feel it.'

He wanted to say don't go: stay with me, but he knew he couldn't stop this. He had to be strong and not make her last moments sad ones.

'You can rest now,' he said softly, trying to be brave.

'Yes. I'm going, Tristan.' Her voice was growing echoey again.

'I love you. I'll never forget you.'

'Nor I you. I love you, my darling. Kiss me once more.'

He did, softly, and she smiled dreamily as they parted.

'Remember, I will see you again.'

He nodded, holding his breath as she was suddenly bathed in light. He couldn't help but smile, then, as he knew that she was really moving on: that light surrounding her couldn't mean anything else. He didn't dare blink because he wanted to remember every last second.

Belle was staring at him too. And she smiled lovingly, and then…gone.

 **To be continued**

Next time, we catch up with the treasure hunters, Jones and Milah.


	9. Chapter 9

The treasure hunters go after their treasure, but find that they're not alone.

 **Chapter Nine: The Treasure Hunters**

Gold blinked, staring at the place where she'd lain, his arms so empty now. Every trace of her was gone, almost as if she'd never been here. But she had. Oh, he knew she had, and it was that, the knowing what he'd had and lost, that made the tears come.

He didn't know how long he lay bereft and alone, feeling sorry for himself. It might have been minutes or hours, and then a loud knock sounded at his door.

 _The night before…_

Jones carried the pickaxe and shovel while Milah studied the map.

'It should be just here,' she told him, looking up from the map to their surroundings.

He nodded. 'Right.'

He began to dig, using the pickaxe on the harder clumps of earth. Lucky there was a full moon. The light from it glimmered on the lake and made it easier to see what he was doing.

'Bet that Mrs Potts will be pissed when she realises the treasure was right under her nose the whole time,' Jones said confidently, shovelling the dirt out of the hole.

'Well, it's her loss, isn't it?' Milah asked.

'Indeed,' he agreed.

'Anything?' she asked, as she stood watching him work. It was bloody cold out here. She hoped it wouldn't take much longer.

He shot her a look. 'Gimme a minute, would you?' he demanded.

'Fine,' she grumbled.

A few minutes later, he was still digging, growing more and more agitated. So was Milah.

'Well?' she snapped.

'I said gimme a minute, Milah,' he growled.

'You've had several,' she retorted. 'I thought you said this was a sure bet, Killian. I gave up everything for you!'

'Just shut up and let me think, alright. Let me see that map: maybe you read it wrong.'

'I did not read it wrong!' she cried. 'Maybe the bloody thing is a fake.'

'It's not a fake,' he snarled. 'The treasure has to be here: it has to be!'

'There's no treasure there.'

Milah and Jones whirled around to find a young boy of about fourteen watching them.

Jones pulled a gun from the belt of his jeans and pointed it at the boy.

'Killian!' Milah cried.

'Shut up,' he snapped at her. 'What do you want, kid?'

The boy held still, his hands up. 'I was walking by the lake and I saw you,' he said, 'so I came to investigate. Why are you digging here: there's no treasure here.'

'Well, I have a map that says there is, boy,' Jones returned.

'Well, I know this castle better than anyone,' the boy countered, 'and I know the treasure isn't buried there.'

His words made Jones frown. It wasn't buried here…but it _was_ buried somewhere.

Jones moved forward and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt.

'What's your name, kid?' he demanded.

'Bailey.'

'Well, Bailey, I suggest you tell me where the treasure _is_ buried, unless you want me to fill you full of lead.'

'Killian, stop it,' Milah called. She hadn't signed up for him to threaten a kid. Killing some thug for the map, fine, but this was just a kid.

'Be quiet, Milah,' he shouted. 'Tell me, boy, or so help me…'

'The cliffs,' the boy said quickly.

'Where, exactly?'

'I'll show you,' Bailey offered.

'Killian, I don't think—'

'One more word, Milah, and I swear…'

She backed up at his fierce look. What happened to the adventurous soul she'd met last year? This man seemed so ruthless, so unlike the devil-may-care charmer she'd known.

Jones stepped back from the boy and levelled his gun at him.

'You take me to where the treasure is buried and it better be there, because I kill people who lie to me.'

'I'll show you,' the boy said again.

'Pick up those tools then and move,' Jones commanded: 'you too, Milah.'

She dared not argue with him: he seemed almost…unhinged. She watched as the boy picked up the shovel and pickaxe in silence and began to walk. She didn't know how the boy could be so calm because she was terrified. She walked beside him silently as he led them to the cliffs. She could feel Killian behind them, the gun pointed at the boy's back. How was the boy not terrified?

Jones was only thinking of finally getting his hands on the treasure Hook had come here for all those years ago. He could feel it within his grasp. He'd known this was his destiny ever since he heard the story of his ancestor: he'd known it was his destiny to do what Hook could not. Well, the time had finally come: he would have his treasure, and he'd live like a king for the rest of his life, and nobody would get in his way, not now, when he was so close.

There was a fog coming down. It grew thicker every moment as they walked to the cliffs. Milah was frightened and shivering. She'd never been afraid, but she was now. The boy glanced over at her and she caught his look. Something in it judged her and she shrank away. She felt instinctively that he was a good person. She…she wasn't. She'd never felt her lack of morals before, but tonight…this strange, mixed up night…she felt like every choice she'd made was the wrong one. She'd never done right by anyone but herself. She'd been selfish and cruel all her life. Was it too late to change?

Jones grew frustrated as the fog rolled thickly about them. How was he to find his treasure in this? He didn't even know where they were.

'Where the hell are you taking us, boy?' he demanded.

'Just up to the cliffs,' the boy said. He almost said 'to your destiny', but he didn't think Jones would understand. Bailey could feel it: this was destiny. Whatever was about to happen would happen, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He knew he was meant to take them to the cliffs. How he knew this, he didn't know, and didn't question. There were forces beyond him at work and he wasn't about to argue, especially when he knew it would work out well for the lady and, hopefully, for himself. He'd been stuck here for two hundred years; now, he had hope that he could finally rest.

'You know what I think?' Jones demanded impatiently: 'I think you're leading me on a wild goose chase.'

Milah heard the gun cock and froze. Surely he wasn't going to shoot a kid?

The boy stopped too and turned slowly. She shot a look at him: he _still_ didn't look scared. Why on earth wasn't he scared?

'Killian,' she warned: 'don't do this.'

'I will do whatever the bloody hell I want to do!' he shouted. He aimed the gun at the boy, preparing to fire.

'Over my dead body!' she shouted back, suddenly finding a moral compass from somewhere and rushing towards him.

She managed to knock the gun from his hand and kicked it away. It disappeared into the mist.

'What the bloody hell, Milah?' he demanded, grabbing her by the arms.

'Let me go!' she shouted, struggling with him.

The boy watched as they stumbled a bit, holding onto each other. Finally, Jones managed to push her off him, and then came a blood-curdling scream.

'Milah?' Jones called: 'Milah!'

He looked around, but couldn't see her. He took a couple of steps forward into the fog. Bailey heard a cry from him too, and then nothing.

He walked forward a little. The fog was so thick by now it was impossible to see more than a few inches ahead. Finally, though, he realised what had happened. He saw the fog rolling over the edge of the cliff and knew: they'd gone off the edge onto the rocks below.

There was no way either of them had survived that fall.

Bailey crouched down at the edge, trying to see, but the fog was too thick. He was sorry for the woman. She'd tried to stop Jones in the end, but he felt nothing but relief that Jones was gone. He was a ruthless killer and the world would be better off without him.

He sighed, relieved. He'd never been able to stop Hook, but he'd stopped Jones: he'd gotten some kind of justice, and now, perhaps, fate would be kind to him and let him be free of this place, let him have the peace he craved.

He knew his wish had been answered as soon as he felt the approach of dawn. He smiled and closed his eyes, and found peace.

 _Later that morning…_

The knock came again, urgent and too loud.

'Ugh, what is it?' Gold demanded, wishing he could just be left alone with his pain.

'Mr Gold, it's Jefferson. I'm so sorry to disturb you, sir, but I need you to come with me. There's been an accident.'

An accident? What on earth? He could hear the young man's urgency, though, so he climbed out of bed.

'I'll be right there,' he called.

He dressed quickly and unlocked the door. If Jefferson noticed the remains of the dinner for two, he said nothing, only looked sombrely at him.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Mr Gold, I need you to come with me,' Jefferson said quietly. 'You'll need a coat.'

Wordlessly, Gold took his coat from the wardrobe and pulled it on as he followed Jefferson.

He didn't speak. He was afraid to ask what had happened. Was it one of the guests? Mrs Potts? He was afraid to even think what was wrong.

A fog had formed in the night. He realised it as he followed Jefferson out of the castle. Everything was shrouded in an eerie mist. Gold shivered.

'This way, sir,' Jefferson said gently.

Gold followed meekly.

They walked for a while, in what direction, Gold did not know. Finally, he saw vague shapes looming out of the fog.

'Mrs Potts,' Jefferson called out.

One of the shapes detached itself from the others and came towards them. It was Mrs Potts. She looked grim and solemn.

'Thank you, Jefferson,' she said. 'Mr Gold, I'm so terribly sorry to have to tell you this, but your wife and Mr Jones were out in the fog last night. I don't know what possessed them to go walking on the cliffs in this weather, but they did, and they…they fell. I'm so sorry, Tristan, she's…she's gone.'

'What?' He frowned, unable to take in what she was saying. She was gone? Belle? No, she wasn't talking about Belle. 'I'm sorry, I don't understand.'

'I'm sorry, I know this is difficult. You've been through so much already,' she said understandingly. 'Perhaps we should go back to the castle…'

But the fog shifted a little and Gold saw something lying on the ground: two somethings, actually, two huddled, bedraggled forms, wet and still. They were two bodies, and he recognised one as his wife.

'Milah,' he breathed, rushing forward. Jones lay beside her, also dead. Their bodies had been broken on the rocks below the cliffs and the waves had washed over them, Gold realised, the import of Elinor's words finally making sense. Milah had gone treasure hunting with Jones, they'd fallen off the cliff, and now they were dead.

'Oh, Milah.' He dropped to his knees beside her, sadness and pity welling up in him. What a waste, and what a stupid thing to do, going hunting for treasure on a night like this last one had been.

'I'm so sorry, Tristan,' Elinor murmured.

'Thank you,' he said, sad, but calm. 'I presume you've had to call the police,' he said.

'Yes. Mr Nolan is actually a detective and he's helping them.'

Mr Nolan? Yes, Prince Charming, Gold remembered.

'Right,' Gold said. 'I should talk to them, I suppose. I believe I know what they were doing up here.' He stood and looked around for Mr Nolan.

'There will be time for that later,' Elinor said. 'They'll want to examine the scene first and you've had a terrible shock. Come back to the castle and eat something. You can talk to the police then.'

He nodded, willing to go along with whatever she suggested.

The late morning sun was managing to filter through the fog and Gold's eye was caught by something in the light. The fog receded a little and there was someone there, walking through the mist.

 **To be continued**

Next time, the final chapter. Who is that walking through the mist?


	10. Chapter 10

So, this is the final chapter. Happy Halloween, everyone! Hope you like the conclusion. Let's find out who's walking through the mist, shall we? :)

 **Chapter Ten: The Apparition, Again**

It was a woman in a blue dress and a grey coat. She had long brown hair.

She appeared to look at him and smiled brilliantly. She started walking faster now, still smiling. She looked exactly like…

'Belle,' he breathed, and promptly passed out.

0

Belle sat beside Tristan looking down at him. Elinor was sitting opposite, smiling at them.

'He'll be alright, dear,' she promised.

Belle looked over at her and nodded. 'I know. It's just that he's been through so much.' And she stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

'As have you, dear,' Elinor pointed out. 'You're absolutely sure you're alright?'

Belle nodded, smiling. 'Perfectly. I mean, it's hard to take in: I was dead and now I'm alive, because of him.' And she smiled fondly down at Tristan.

'Because of what you share,' Elinor added: 'True Love. I knew it would be so.'

'You did?' Belle asked, smiling.

Elinor nodded. 'You two were meant to be together. I knew it wasn't for nothing that you were linked across time, that he was able to save you. I knew you'd figure it out.'

'We thought he was helping me move on,' Belle said softly.

'But you were always meant to be with him, so this _is_ your moving on,' Elinor told her.

'It's a miracle,' Belle breathed. 'True Love… I feel so blessed.'

Elinor smiled. 'Well, dear, I'm going to leave you two alone. Let me know when he wakes and I'll send you up some food. I'm going to tell all the guests you're my grand niece come for a visit: that way, they won't wonder.'

'Alright,' Belle said: 'thank you, Ellie.'

'You're welcome, my dear,' Elinor replied, and she came around and kissed the top of Belle's head gently. 'It's so good to have you here for real,' she said softly.

Belle smiled and stood, hugging her and thanking her again.

Elinor left and Belle sat, watching the man she loved sleep. He'd been through so much, but she was here now, and she would help him, be there for him. They could have that life he imagined for them now.

Gold's mind was all over the place. It was definitely playing tricks on him. That was the only way he could explain seeing Belle walking through the mist and hearing her voice when he knew she was gone. And Milah… Yes, she was gone too. He felt so sorry for her. He'd never wished her ill and her last moments must have been horrifying. At least Belle's final moments had been happy ones.

He blinked and could almost see her face smiling at him. Only hours ago, he'd held her close, here in this bed.

'Belle,' he whispered longingly.

'I'm here,' a soft voice told him, and he felt a softness against his cheek.

The feel of her, the scent of her, her voice…it all felt so real, so present, but it was impossible: his mind was playing tricks on him. He'd just seen Milah's body, just said goodbye to Belle: he was emotionally overwrought and his mind was playing tricks on him. There was nothing more to it.

He blinked again, and again saw Belle's face. He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of her image. Why was he being haunted by her?

'Tristan?' There was her voice again.

He blinked rapidly. She was still there, leaning over him.

'Hello,' she breathed, smiling at him. Belle's hair, Belle's voice, Belle's smile.

'Please,' he begged, screwing his eyes shut: 'please stop it, I can't bear it.' He wanted to be left in peace with his memories and he got landed with this apparition instead. What had he done wrong to deserve to be haunted like this?

He opened his eyes and found her still there, staring at him. It looked so much like Belle. He couldn't take his eyes off her now.

'Tristan,' she breathed, her voice full of longing.

He shook his head, pained. 'I said goodbye to you and now I'm being haunted. You were supposed to move on: I saw the light and you were gone. You look real, but…'

'Take my hand,' she invited, 'and you'll know whether or not I'm real.' She held out her hand to him.

Drawn to her, even if she wasn't really there, he reached out. His hand trembled as he reached to take hers. Oh, he wanted her to be real.

When his fingers closed around her warn, soft ones, he gasped.

'You're real: you're alive!' he breathed, astonished.

'Yes!' she returned, laughing. 'I told you I would see you again.'

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over him, rolling them until he was looking down at her, trying to drink her in.

Belle bit her lip, her chest heaving. She stared up at him, waiting.

'God, you _are_ real,' he breathed, awed by the feel of her softness and warmth, the feel of her breast rising and falling, 'but how are you here?'

'True Love,' she told him softly. 'They sent me back to be with you. _This_ is my moving on, here, with you.' She reached up to caress his cheek, smiling at him.

'Oh, Belle,' he whispered. 'Oh, Belle!' He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tight. Then he realised he was probably hurting her and pulled back. 'I'm sorry,' he murmured, quickly checking her over.

She laughed. 'It's alright.'

'But you can stay with me? You don't have to go back? This isn't temporary?' Oh, please, let this be to have and to keep.

She shook her head. 'I went somewhere else, but then I was walking through the mist and saw you, and I knew. I love you.'

'Oh, angel, I love you too,' he breathed, and kissed her deeply.

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.

'Oh, Tristan, I have a second chance at life,' she said joyfully, 'and I'm going to take it. I'm going to have the life I want, and however long I have this time, I'm going to make the most of it. If this experience has taught me anything, it's not to take life for granted.'

He nodded. 'You can do everything you wanted to do. You can see the world.' He smiled at her.

'Only if you come with me,' she said, her eyes shining up at him as she clutched the folds of his shirt. 'What I want is to be with you.'

He sighed happily, resting his forehead against hers.

'And that's what I want too,' he said, 'but there's something I must do first,' he added solemnly. 'My wife died last night and…'

'I know,' she soothed: 'I know. You must do whatever you feel is your duty by her, of course. I'll wait for you.'

'Thank you Belle,' he whispered. 'I feel I owe it to her to give her the funeral she would have wanted.'

'Of course,' she agreed.

'I'll lay Milah to rest, sell up everything, and then come back for you. It shouldn't be more than a few months, less if I can manage it.'

She nodded. 'I'm not going anywhere,' she promised. 'I'll stay and help Ellie. Come to me when you can.'

He nodded, and they sealed the promise with a kiss.

0

The events surrounding Milah and Jones' deaths ended up being something of a mystery. Gold spoke to the police, of course, and told them about the treasure map and that he could only assume it had brought them to the cliffs that night. It turned out, though, that the police had found Jones' map on his body, and that it clearly led to a spot by the lake. The police had even found a freshly dug hole on that spot.

'Then why would they go to the cliffs?' Gold asked.

'We have no idea,' Mr Nolan said, still helping the local police with the investigation. 'We may never know why they were there, but, from our preliminary investigations, it looks like there was a struggle. We think Jones struggled with your wife and ended up pushing her off the cliff. It looks like he then lost his footing and slipped himself. We found a gun in some bushes near the cliff edge too.'

'God,' Gold said. 'You don't think they struggled over the gun?'

'It's possible,' Mr Nolan agreed. 'We may never know why or what exactly happened. It appears to have just been the two of them up there and there are no witnesses, at least not yet. In any case, I'm sorry about your wife.'

'Thank you.'

'Pity she got mixed up with Jones: he was bad news.'

'Why do you say that?'

'The gun we found, it's linked to a murder in London earlier this year. We believe Jones stole that treasure map and shot the man he took it from. He was so convinced there was treasure here, he was willing to kill to find it. I suppose he's been paid back for it now: he found no treasure and paid with his life for his greed.'

'I suppose so,' Gold agreed. He hadn't liked the man, but he hadn't guessed he was a murderer. And to think Milah had gotten mixed up in that…

He thought he had an inkling as to how they'd ended up on the cliffs. He remembered Bailey saying he'd found a way to save himself. He wondered if the boy had led Jones and Milah up to the cliffs that night and let the cards fall as they may. Perhaps it was fate that they ended up as they had, though he felt bad for Milah. As much as she'd hurt him, she didn't deserve such a horrible death.

He asked Elinor privately if Bailey was still haunting the castle.

She shook her head. 'He never reappeared after Halloween,' she revealed. 'I believe he worked out his unfinished business.'

He nodded. He believed so too. So, Bailey was finally at rest and Belle had gotten to move on with him thanks to the True Love they shared. At least something good had come of all this.

0

As soon as the police released Milah's body, Gold made arrangements for her funeral. Nolan and his wife, and Ella and Ursula had stayed at the castle after her death to offer what support and help they could. Gold was grateful for their friendship.

Of course, Belle was always near too. Within a few days, she had settled in at the castle, embracing her role as Elinor's 'niece'. The staff liked her and so did the guests. Gold let her know he appreciated her presence, though they didn't spend time alone together. They both understood that it would be right to wait until Milah was buried and everything was settled. Once all that was done, he'd come back and they could be together.

0

Once Tristan had gone, the other guests left too, but Belle kept herself busy helping Ellie and accustoming herself to the modern world. There was so much to learn and it was so nice to be able to do things again, even simple things. If she wanted to pick up a book, she could: if she wanted to make herself a cup of tea, go for a walk, talk to people, she could. Feeling the pages of a book under her fingertips, the earth under her feet, the breath in her lungs…it was all so magical. She thanked fate every day for allowing her a second chance.

She missed Tristan, but he called her every couple of days. Telephones were magical, Belle had decided. They allowed her to hear her love's voice, and it was so intimate to be able to hide herself away and just talk to him for as long as they wanted. He told her all about what he was doing - selling his house and his business - and she told him about her doings at the castle.

She hadn't ventured far out of the castle yet. She wanted to wait until she could go with Tristan, but she did go with Ellie to the village so she could begin to get acquainted with the wider world. It was overwhelming how much even this village she had known in her childhood had changed. The world at large would be an exciting, but scary, place, she knew, but she also knew that she would have Tristan with her. And she knew that they would be happy: she knew that deep in her soul, and she could hardly wait for the day he came back to her. He'd promised that it would be soon.

So, Belle waited, patient and hopeful. And one day, to her surprise, Faye came to her.

She was in the library when the ghost floated through the wall.

'Faye,' she greeted, standing up.

Faye hovered before her, translucent and airy. Was that what she had looked like to Tristan, Belle wondered?

'Hello, dear,' Faye greeted. 'Well, you look well. True Love agrees with you.' Faye nodded, conceding that Belle had been right to trust in Tristan, and that she had been wrong to doubt.

'Thank you,' Belle returned, smiling. 'It's very kind of you to say that, Faye.'

'Well, I admit I was wrong. You both have something very special and I am truly happy for you that you can be together. Miracles do happen, it seems.'

'Yes,' Belle said, smiling happily.

'My dear, I wonder if I can ask your help with something?' Faye asked.

'Of course,' Belle returned. 'What is it you need?'

0

Gold drove up to the castle, his heart light, his spirit buoyed with confidence. He knew that Belle would be waiting for him. He'd called the other day to tell her everything was settled and he was coming to her so they could start their life together.

It was just after New Year, an appropriate time to be starting a new life. It was cold and frosty white everywhere. The castle looked magical. He smiled as he stood by the car and looked up at it. His life had started again here, in the most wonderful way imaginable, and he would always have a fondness in his heart for this place.

Belle had been walking in the grounds, waiting for him, and she called out to him now.

'Tristan!'

He turned, seeing her coming running, and he rushed to meet her, crushing her to him, cradling her in his arms as she clung to him.

'Oh, Belle,' he breathed: 'sweetheart.'

Their eyes met and she reached up for a kiss, refusing to let him go until they were both breathless. He didn't mind a bit.

'I'm so glad you're here,' she told him, smiling radiantly.

He smiled. 'Me too. Look at you,' he murmured, stepping back and admiring her in her brown boots, crimson coat, and beige hat. 'You look like a thoroughly modern woman,' he remarked, proud.

She giggled. 'I'm glad you approve.' And she cuddled close again. 'Just so you know, I'm going to want to do this a lot.'

He smiled, knowing she meant cuddling. 'Me too,' he agreed, and kissed her again. 'So, my love, what now? Now that I'm all yours, what would you like to do?'

'There's actually some unfinished business I'd like you to help me with, Tristan,' she said seriously.

'Unfinished business? You mean a ghost's unfinished business?'

'Yes,' she agreed, and quickly explained why she had asked his help.

'Oh, no,' he said sadly, as she finished.

Belle nodded. 'She can't move on. I knew that you wouldn't want her to suffer, and we're so happy, I couldn't bear the idea that she had to suffer while we're happy.'

'Of course not,' he said, hugging her, loving her all the more for her generous heart.

'Then you'll talk to her?'

'I will.'

She smiled and led him to the West wing.

It was Milah's unfinished business she wanted him to help with. Her spirit lingered here still, unable to rest, reliving her death every night. He hadn't realised Milah might have unfinished business. The thought of her suffering for all eternity didn't appeal to him, so he would help her if he could. He hoped he could.

Belle was happy he was being so understanding. When Faye had asked her to speak to his wife, she had agreed, but she quickly realised that the person Milah really needed to speak to was Tristan. She had promised to ask him to come see her when he returned. Milah hadn't seemed all that confident that he would want to see her, but Belle knew that he would.

They held hands as they walked through the passage to the Ghost's Walk. Always cold, it was even colder in the dead of winter.

Belle looked around. 'Milah?' she called, her breath turning to smoke on the air. 'I brought Tristan,' she called.

A form emerged from the shadows. It was Milah, ghostly white and insubstantial.

'You said he'd come,' she acknowledged, her voice echoing.

'Of course I came,' Gold said. 'Milah…' Words failed him. He'd never wanted her to suffer, but now she was. He had to help, somehow.

'Strange twist of fate, isn't it?' she asked him, 'your ghost girl becomes mortal while your wife becomes a ghost. I'm sorry,' she said, 'I don't mean to be unkind. I was never very kind to you, Tristan, but I wanted to say I'm sorry.'

'Milah, you—'

'No, let me say this, please,' she requested, holding her hand up.

'I'm listening,' he offered. It was the least he could do, hear her out.

'I treated you badly, thought only of myself. I wasn't happy with you, but I used you. I shouldn't have done that. At the end of my life, I realised I'd never done an unselfish thing, and this is my penance. I accept it.'

'The police said they thought there was a struggle for the gun,' Gold said: 'why? Why were you struggling with Jones, Milah?'

'I couldn't let him shoot that boy,' she said. 'I couldn't have his blood on my conscience. But now I know why the boy wasn't afraid. He was a ghost, wasn't he? He couldn't die a second time. He was the cabin boy Hook shot, wasn't he?'

'Yes,' Belle told her, 'but just because he couldn't die a second time, it doesn't mean your selfless act means nothing.'

'Yes,' Gold agreed. 'You did learn how to be unselfish, Milah.'

'Still, one unselfish deed doesn't undo a lifetime of selfishness. I still deserve this fate.'

Gold shook his head. 'No, Milah, you don't.'

'Thank you for agreeing to come, Tristan. I just wanted to apologise for everything. You can go now. I wish you both every happiness.' She turned away, her piece said. She meant every word and she truly hoped he and Belle would be happy.

'I forgive you,' Gold called.

'What?' she asked, turning back.

He nodded. 'I forgive you, Milah, and I hope you can find peace.'

'Thank you,' she breathed, staring at him. 'You're a good man, Tristan Gold, a far better man than I ever deserved. Thank you,' she said again.

'You…' Gold stared at her. There was a light forming around her.

'You were her unfinished business, Tristan,' Belle told him, holding his hand.

'Yes,' Milah agreed. 'I wanted to apologise, but I didn't think I could earn your forgiveness. Thank you for that, Tristan. Now I can move on.'

'That's good,' he called, watching her fade in the light. 'Rest easy, Milah.'

'Be happy,' she called, and then she was gone.

Gold sighed and pulled Belle close.

'I knew you could help her,' she told him. 'I'm happy for her.'

'Me too,' he agreed. It felt good to lay the past to rest.

0

Belle smiled as Tristan came to join her on the balcony outside their hotel room.

'Well, sweetheart, how do you like New York?' he asked her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

'It's absolutely magical,' she told him. 'I can't wait to see more of it. This view is wonderful,' she said, looking down onto Central Park.

He kissed her ear. 'I'm so pleased you like it,' he murmured. 'I have another surprise for you.'

'Another? You're spoiling me!' She smiled lovingly up at him.

'And I intend to go on doing so,' he told her.

'Tristan,' she scolded, but her smile ruined it. 'You've already made me the happiest woman on earth, you know. I don't need any more.'

'Well, that's too bad, because I was sorta hoping you might want to…'

'What?' she asked, frowning and then smiling.

'This isn't how I was going to do this, but I was sorta hoping you might say yes to marrying me.'

'What?' she asked, shocked. 'Tristan…' she breathed, watching him get down on one knee.

'Belle, you've made me happier than I ever thought I could be. Will you marry me?'

'Yes!' she cried, pulling him to his feet. 'Yes, yes!'

He kissed her; then scooped her into his arms and carried her back into their suite. More sightseeing could wait a while.

 **The end**

Thank you so much to everyone who liked, reblogged, favourited, reviewed, left kudos, and left comments. I had so much fun writing this and it was lovely sharing it with you all. Thanks for all the support! :)


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